The squire sighed and frowned as he pondered this admission.
Ten minutes later the library door behind him opened and shut, and he was startled by a voice which cried:
'Uncle, you didn't want me to wait ceremoniously in the drawing-room, did you?'
'Bless my soul, it is you, Catherine!'
The girl let both her hands remain in his grasp, and stood facing him, smiling, scrutinizing his face eagerly.
'Yes, Catherine at twenty-five instead of fifteen! You look very little older, only your beard has turned quite white!... How is Uncle Jack? Shall I see any difference in him? Is he as upright as ever?'
'He—I—I really do not know, my dear.'
'Not know? Oh, you mean that people who are always together are easily deceived on such points.'
'No, I did not, Catherine. It is three years since your Uncle John and I were always together!'
'Your own, only brother! Perhaps he is abroad, serving his Queen and country?'