'She came from a place called Ecclesbourne Hall,' he said, one day.

'She was an heiress; old Ralph Combermere knew what he was about when he transplanted the pale primrose.
Do you know, Ursula, this room is supposed to be haunted?
And one of the maids told me seriously that Mistress Combermere walks here on windy nights with her babe in her arms.

Fancy such a report in an English vicarage!' When I reached the house the little maid who opened the door informed me that Uncle Max was in his study: it was a large room with a bow-window overlooking the garden, and I knew Uncle Max never used any other room except for his meals.

I had volunteered to announce myself.

I was never formal with Max, so I knocked at the door, and, without waiting to hear his voice in reply, marched in without ceremony.
But the next moment I stood discomfited on the threshold, for instead of Uncle Max's familiar face I saw a dark, closely-cropped head bending over the table as though searching for something, and the ruddy firelight reflected the broad shoulders and hairless profile of the obnoxious Mr.
Hamilton.
My first idea was to escape, and my fingers were already on the door-handle, when he turned abruptly and saw me.