She got up, quite like a young person, and coming quickly to meet me with a smile-- 'My young cousin!' she cried, and kissed me on both cheeks.

'You know who I am?
Your cousin Monica--Monica Knollys--and very glad, dear, to see you, though she has not set eyes on you since you were no longer than that paper-knife.

Now come here to the lamp, for I must look at you.

Who is she like?
Let me see.

Like your poor mother, I think, my dear; but you've the Aylmer nose--yes--not a bad nose either, and, come I very good eyes, upon my life--yes, certainly something of her poor mother--not a bit like you, Austin.' My father gave her a look as near a smile as I had seen there for a long time, shrewd, cynical, but kindly too, and said he-- 'So much the better, Monica, eh ?' 'It was not for me to say--but you know, Austin, you always were an ugly creature.