'Oh, dear Cousin Monica, do tell me--is she--is she very wicked? I am so
afraid of her!'

'How should I know, dear Maud? But I do remember her face, and I don't very
much like her, and you may depend on it. I will speak to your father in the
morning about her, and don't, darling, ask me any more about her, for I
really have not very much to tell that you would care to hear, and the fact
is I _won't_ say any more about her--there!'

And Cousin Monica laughed, and gave me a little slap on the cheek, and then
a kiss.

'Well, just tell me this----'

'Well, I _won't_ tell you this, nor anything--not a word, curious little
woman. The fact is, I have little to tell, and I mean to speak to your
father, and he, I am sure, will do what is right; so don't ask me any more,
and let us talk of something pleasanter.'

There was something indescribably winning, it seemed to me, in Cousin
Monica. Old as she was, she seemed to me so girlish, compared with those
slow, unexceptionable young ladies whom I had met in my few visits at the
county houses. By this time my shyness was quite gone, and I was on the
most intimate terms with her.

'You know a great deal about her, Cousin Monica, but you won't tell me.'

'Nothing I should like better, if I were at liberty, little rogue; but you
know, after all, I don't really say whether I _do_ know anything about
her or not, or what sort of knowledge it is. But tell me what you mean by