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 ghosty, and all about it.' So I recounted my experiences, to which, so far from laughing at me, she listened with very special gravity.
'Does she write and receive many letters ?' I had seen her write letters, and supposed, though I could only recollect one or two, that she received in proportion.
'Are _you_ Mary Quince ?' asked my lady cousin.
Mary was arranging the window-curtains, and turned, dropping a courtesy affirmatively toward her.
'You wait on my little cousin, Miss Ruthyn, don't you ?' 'Yes,'m,' said Mary, in her genteelest way.
'Does anyone sleep in her room ?' 'Yes,'m, _I_--please, my lady.' 'And no one else ?' 'No,'m--please, my lady.' 'Not even the _governess_, sometimes?
'No, please, my lady.' 'Never, you are quite sure, my dear ?' said Lady Knollys, transferring the question to me.
'Oh, no, never,' I answered.
Cousin Monica mused gravely, I fancied even anxiously, into the grate; then stirred her tea and sipped it, still looking into the same point of our cheery fire.
'I like your face, Mary Quince; I'm sure you are a good creature,' she said, suddenly turning toward her with a pleasant countenance.