“Our first words of explanation informed me that my family name was known to her by repute.  Who do you think she was?  The eldest daughter of my uncle and yours—­Andrew Vanstone.  I had often heard my poor mother in past years speak of her brother Andrew, and I knew of that sad story at Combe-Raven.  But our families, as you are aware, had always been estranged, and I had never seen my charming cousin before.  She has the dark eyes and hair, and the gentle, retiring manners that I always admire in a woman.  I don’t want to renew our old disagreement about your father’s conduct to those two sisters, or to deny that his brother Andrew may have behaved badly to him; I am willing to admit that the high moral position he took in the matter is quite unassailable by such a miserable sinner as I am; and I will not dispute that my own spendthrift habits incapacitate me from offering any opinion on the conduct of other people’s pecuniary affairs.  But, with all these allowances and drawbacks, I can tell you one thing, Noel.  If you ever see the elder Miss Vanstone, I venture to prophesy that, for the first time in your life, you will doubt the propriety of following your father’s example.

“She told me her little story, poor thing, most simply and unaffectedly.  She is now occupying her second situation as a governess—­and, as usual, I, who know everybody, know the family.  They are friends of my uncle’s, whom he has lost sight of latterly—­the Tyrrels of Portland Place—­and they treat Miss Vanstone with as much kindness and consideration as if she was a member of the family.  One of their old servants accompanied her to Aldborough, her object in traveling to that place being what the landlady of the hotel had stated it to be.  The family reverses have, it seems, had a serious effect on Miss Vanstone’s younger sister, who has left her friends and who has been missing from home for some time.  She had been last heard of at Aldborough; and her elder sister, on her return from the Continent with the Tyrrels, had instantly set out to make inquiries at that place.

“This was all Miss Vanstone told me.  She asked whether you had seen anything of her sister, or whether Mrs. Lecount knew anything of her sister—­I suppose because she was aware you had been at Aldborough.  Of course I could tell her nothing.  She entered into no details on the subject, and I could not presume to ask her for any.  All I did was to set to work with might and main to assist her inquiries.  The attempt was an utter failure; nobody could give us any information.  We tried personal description of course; and strange to say, the only young lady formerly staying at Aldborough who answered the description was, of all the people in the world, the lady you have married!  If she had not had an uncle and aunt (both of whom have left the place), I should have begun to suspect that you had married your cousin without knowing it!  Is this the clew to the mystery?  Don’t be angry; I must have my little joke, and I can’t help writing as carelessly as I talk.  The end of it was, our inquiries were all baffled, and I traveled back with Miss Vanstone and her attendant as far as our station here.  I think I shall call on the Tyrrels when I am next in London.  I have certainly treated that family with the most inexcusable neglect.