For two whole years I tried to be amiable when Uncle Keith was in the
room, and at last gave up the attempt in despair, baffled by my own evil
tempers, and yet I will say I was not a bad-tempered girl. I must have
had good in me or Aunt Agatha would not have been so fond of me. I call
that a real crucial test--other people's fondness for us.

Why is it so difficult to get on with some folk, very worthy people in
their way?

Why do some people invariably rub up one's fur until it bristles with
discomfort? Why do these same thoroughly estimable creatures bring a
sort of moral east wind with them, scarifying one's nerves? Surely it is
beneath the dignity of a human being to be rasped by a harsh, drawling
voice, or offended by trifling mannerisms. Uncle Keith was just like one
of my sums--you might add him up, subtract from him, divide or multiply
him, but he would never come right in the end; one always reckoned that
he was more or less than he was. He was a little, pale, washed-out
looking man, with sandy hair and prominent brown eyes. Being an old
bachelor when he married Aunt Agatha, he had very precise, formal ways,
and was methodical and punctual to a fault. Next to Uncle Keith, I hated
that white-faced watch of his. I hated the slow, ponderous way in which
he drew it from his pocket, and produced it for my special benefit.

I have said that my detestation of Uncle Keith was somewhat
unreasonable. I must own I had no grave reasons for my dislike. Uncle
Keith had a good moral character; he was a steady church-goer, was
painstaking and abstemious; never put himself in a passion, or, indeed,
lost his temper for a minute; but how was a girl to tolerate a man who
spent five minutes scraping his boots before he entered his own door,
whatever the weather might be; who said, "Hir-rumph" (humph was what he