Philip, thinking of a blue cotton frock and a pair of brown eyes, nodded.
"Then I will try and make it easier for you," said Uncle Joseph. "It is my plain duty to do so, for if once you get into your head the notion that woman is man's better half and guiding angel, or any sentimental, insidious nonsense of that kind, you are doomed. Your father allowed himself to cherish such beliefs, and he died of a broken heart before he was thirty. You are your father's son."
"Who broke his heart?" asked Philip, looking up quickly. It was the first time that Uncle Joseph had ever mentioned his father to him.
"Your mother," said Uncle Joseph bluntly. "She broke another man's heart later on, but that is another story. Perhaps the other man deserved it, but your father, above all men, did not. Have we read Tennyson together?"
"Yes," said Philip. "'The Idylls of the King.'"
"You remember King Arthur?"
Philip nodded, beginning dimly to comprehend.
"Well, your mother was Guinevere."
Philip was silent for a while. Then he asked:—
"Is that why you say we must avoid all women?"