'I daresay he was right, Max; poor people have such an objection to open their windows.'
'I believe you there. I have talked myself nearly hoarse on that subject. Hamilton and I propose giving lectures in the schoolroom on domestic hygiene. There is a fearful want of sanitary knowledge in women belonging to the lower class; want of cleanliness, want of ventilation, want of whitewashing, are triple evils that lead to the most lamentable results. We cannot get people to understand the common laws of life; the air of their rooms may be musty, stagnant, and corrupt, and yet they are astonished if their children have an attack of scarlet fever or diphtheria.'
I commended the notion of the lectures warmly, and asked with whom the idea had originated.
'Oh, Hamilton, of course: he is the moving spirit of everything. We have planned the whole thing out. There is to be a lecture every Friday evening; the first is to be on household hygiene, the sanitary condition of houses, ventilation, cleanliness, etc. In the second lecture Hamilton will speak of the laws of health, self-management, personal cleanliness, to be followed by a few simple lectures on nursing, sick-cookery, and the treatment of infantile diseases. We want all the mothers to attend. Do you think it a good idea, Ursula?'
'It is an excellent one,' I returned reluctantly, for I grudged the praise to Mr. Hamilton. He could benefit his fellow-creatures, and give time and strength and energy to the poor sick people, and yet sneer at me civilly when I wanted to do the same, just because I was a woman. Perhaps Max was disappointed with my want of enthusiasm, for he ceased talking of the lectures, and said he had some more letters to write before dinner, and during the rest of the evening, though we discussed a hundred different topics, Mr. Hamilton's name was not again mentioned.
Uncle Max walked with me to the gate of the White Cottage, and bade me a cheerful good-night.
'I like to feel you are near me, Ursula,' he said, quite affectionately; 'an old bachelor like myself gets into a groove, and the society of a vigorous young woman, brimful of philanthropy and crotchets, will rub me up and do me good; one goes to sleep sometimes,' he finished, rather mournfully, and then he walked away in the darkness, and I stood for a minute to watch him.
It seemed to me that Max was a little different this evening. He was always kind, always cheerful; he never wrapped himself up in gloomy reserve like other people, however depressed or ill at ease he might be; but Mrs. Drabble was right, he was certainly thinner, and there was an anxious careworn look about his face when he was not speaking. I was certain, too, that his cheerfulness and ready flow of conversation were not without effort. I had asked him once if he were quite well, and he had looked at me in evident astonishment.
'Perfectly well, thank you,—in a state of rude health. Nothing ever ails me. Why do you ask?' But I evaded this question, for I knew Max hated to be watched; and, after all, what right had I to intrude into his private anxieties? doubtless he had plenty of these, like other men. The management of a large parish was on his shoulders, and he was too conscientious and hard-working to spare himself; but somehow the shadow lying deep down in Max's honest brown eyes haunted me as I unlatched the cottage door.
I heard Nathaniel's voice in the kitchen, and went in to bid him and his mother good-night. Mrs. Barton was not there, however, but, to my chagrin, Mr. Hamilton occupied her seat. He looked up with a rather quizzical glance as I entered: he and Nathaniel had the round table between them, strewn with books and papers; Nathaniel was writing, and Mr. Hamilton was sitting opposite to him.