“Really!” said Kitty, with much interest. “Our brother Cuthbert is staying with Mr Guy Waynflete at Ingleby now. It was through him that we came to Moorhead.”
Miss Maxwell looked quite awestruck.
“Well, well,” she said, “young people’s ways are different. I should never have made myself known to Mrs Waynflete, nor should I think of calling at Waynflete, even if I visited at that distance. Not that I keep up old grudges, my love, but there’s a delicacy in such matters.”
“Cuthbert knew Mr Waynflete a long time before they knew about any former connection. I don’t think it troubles them, they are great friends.”
“Ah!” said Miss Maxwell. “Guy, too, I hope—”
“Cousin Catherine,” said Violet, boldly; “I am sure you can tell us delightful old stories of the two families. Do! Tell us about the ghost and the Guy Waynflete who never got back in time. Have we got a ghost as well as the Waynfletes?”
“Oh no, love,” said Miss Maxwell, “our family was never of that kind; and indeed, when there’s so much drinking and dissipation as there was among the Waynfletes, there’s no need of ghosts to bring ruin. And I’m sure your brother will always remember, that it was all in the way of business my great-grandfather obtained the place.”
“And how did he lose it again?” asked Violet.
“My dear, through business misfortunes,” said Miss Maxwell, with dignity. “And Ouseley, which is only a few miles up the valley, was sold in my father’s time. But I’ve been thinking, there are no Ouseley Maxwells left but me. And I have a few old letters which perhaps your brother ought to have.”
“I’m sure Cuthbert would be delighted to come and see them and you,” said Kitty.