their elders. Garston is an excellent fellow; he has plenty of brains,
and always does the right thing, however difficult it may be. Men are not
like women, my dear: they often hide their deepest feelings. Your poor
uncle has never been quite the same man since Ralph's death, and just as
he was getting over his boy's loss a little he had a fresh disappointment
with Charlie: he always meant to put him in Ralph's place.'

I was a little ashamed of my criticism when Max said this. I felt I had
not made sufficient allowance for Uncle Brian: the death of his only son
must have been a dreadful blow. Ralph had died at Oxford; they said he
had overworked himself in trying for honours and then had taken a chill.
He was a fine, handsome young fellow, nearly two-and-twenty, and his
father's idol: no wonder Uncle Brian had grown so much older and graver
during the last few years.

And he had been fond of Charlie, and had meant to have him in Ralph's
place; my poor boy would have been a rich one if he had lived. Uncle
Brian had taken him into the bank, and Lesbia and her fortune were
promised to him, but the goodly heritage was snatched away before his
eyes, and he was called away in the fresh bloom of his youth.

I always thought Uncle Brian liked Max better than any other man: he
was always less stiff and frigid in his presence. I could hear his low
laugh--Uncle Brian never laughed loudly--as I closed the door; Max had
said something that amused him. They would be quite happy without me,
so I ran up to the schoolroom on the chance of getting a chat with Jill.

The schoolroom was on the second floor, where Jill, I, and Fräulein all
slept. Sara had a handsome room next to her mother's, and a little
boudoir furnished most daintily for her special use. I do not believe