"Francis Wildacre was very attractive when he used to come and stay here more than twenty years ago," said Annabel. "He had 'such a way with him,' as Ponty used to say." (Ponty was our old nurse.) "And such a way with you, too, in those days," I hastened to add. "I used to think you were a little in love with him." Annabel owned the soft impeachment without a blush: in spite of the fairness of her complexion, she was not of the blushing order. "I believe I was, in a young and foolish sort of way." "That is the only sort of way in which anybody can be in love. Love that isn't young and foolish in its essence, is not love at all." "Oh, Reggie, what nonsense! The sensible mutual attachment of older people is far more lasting." "It may be lasting, but it isn't love. The charm of love is its divine folly." "What a ridiculous idea! Supposing my divine folly, as you call it, had led me into marrying Francis Wildacre, where should I have been now, I should like to know? A widow with two tiresome young people to look after." "But you are yearning to help Blathwayte to look after them, so why shouldn't you have helped Wildacre to look after them? I don't see where the difference comes in. And, besides, they mightn't have been there." "I don't see any necessity to go into that," said Annabel, doing the heavy sister to perfection. "Nor do I. But it was you who went into it, if you remember, not I. You dragged those young people into the discussion, so to speak, by the hair of their heads." Annabel carried the war into the enemy's camp. "And where should you have been if I had married Francis Wildacre, I should like to know?" she asked triumphantly. "Exactly where I am now. There was no talk of my marrying Wildacre." "And all alone, with no one to look after you!" "Pardon me, my dear Annabel, but you are confusing dates. I should have been all right now, because you would be a widow, and would be living here with me, and with a young niece and nephew to whom I should be devoted. Where I should have come short would have been in the intervening twenty years between your supposititious marriage with Wildacre and the present time." Like all typical elder sisters, Annabel loved to be poked fun at by a younger brother. That she never saw the point of my feeble jokes in nowise lessened her admiration of them; her faith in their excellence was a perfect faith, being in truth the evidence of things not seen. "I think you'd have made a very nice uncle, Reggie. I've noticed that good brothers make good uncles, just as good sons make good husbands. I think it is very interesting to notice little things like that." "And instructive," I added; "you've forgotten the instructiveness." "And instructive, too, of course. All interesting things are more or less instructive." "But not invariably in the most elevating kinds of knowledge," I murmured.