CHAPTER XII.
_A CURIOUS CONVERSATION_ We each had another cup of tea, and were silent for awhile.
'We must not talk of ghosts now.

You are a superstitious little woman, you know, and you shan't be frightened.' And now Cousin Monica grew silent again, and looking briskly around the room, like a lady in search of a subject, her eye rested on a small oval portrait, graceful, brightly tinted, in the French style, representing a pretty little boy, with rich golden hair, large soft eyes, delicate features, and a shy, peculiar expression.
'It is odd; I think I remember that pretty little sketch, very long ago.

I think I was then myself a child, but that is a much older style of dress, and of wearing the hair, too, than I ever saw.

I am just forty-nine now.

Oh dear, yes; that is a good while before I was _born_.