matrimony. Nothing I dreaded more than a step-mother. Good Mrs. Rusk
and Mary Quince, in their several ways, used to enhance, by occasional
anecdotes and frequent reflections, the terrors of such an intrusion. I
suppose they did not wish a revolution and all its consequences at Knowl,
and thought it no harm to excite my vigilance.

But it was impossible long to be vexed with Cousin Monica.

'You know, my dear, your father is an oddity,' she said. 'I don't mind
him--I never did. You must not. Cracky, my dear, cracky--decidedly cracky!'

And she tapped the corner of her forehead, with a look so sly and comical,
that I think I should have laughed, if the sentiment had not been so
awfully irreverent.

'Well, dear, how is our friend the milliner?'

'Madame is suffering so much from pain in her ear, that she says it would
be quite impossible to have the honour--'

'Honour--fiddle! I want to see what the woman's like. Pain in her ear, you
say? Poor thing! Well, dear, I think I can cure that in five minutes. I
have it myself, now and then. Come to my room, and we'll get the bottles.

So she lighted her candle in the lobby, and with a light and agile step
she scaled the stairs, I following; and having found the remedies, we
approached Madame's room together.

I think, while we were still at the end of the gallery, Madame heard and
divined our approach, for her door suddenly shut, and there was a fumbling