“Oh, I didn’t know it was a misfortune,” cried Patty. “I thought it was a mystery story.”
“It’s both,” said Mrs. Cromarty, “but if the mystery could be solved, it would be no misfortune.”
“That sounds like an enigma,” observed Patty.
“It’s all an enigma,” said Bob. “Go ahead, Grandy.”
“The story begins,” said Mrs. Cromarty, “with my marriage to Roger Cromarty. I was wed in the year 1855. My husband and I were happy during the first few years of our married life. He was the owner of this beautiful place, which had been in his family for many generations. My daughter, Emmeline, was born here, and when she was a child she filled the old house with her happy laughter and chatter. My husband had a brother, Marmaduke, with whom he was not on good terms. Before my marriage, this brother had left home, and gone to India. My husband held no communication with him, but we sometimes heard indirectly from him, and reports always said that he was amassing great wealth in some Indian commerce.”
“Is that his portrait?” asked Patty, indicating a painting of a fine-looking man in the prime of life.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Cromarty. “But the picture represents him as looking amiable, whereas he was always cross, grumpy, and irritable.”
“Like me,” commented Bob.
“No,” said his mother, “I’m thankful to say that none of you children show the slightest signs of Uncle Marmaduke’s disposition. I was only fifteen years old when he died, but I shall never forget his scowling face and angry tones.”
“Was he always cross?” asked Patty, amazed that any one could be invariably ill-tempered.