r and word, Maud?'

'No, upon my honour.'

'You know I won't tell her anything you say to me; and I only want to know,
that I may put an end to it, my poor little cousin.'

'Thank you, Cousin Monica very much; but really and truly she does not
ill-use me.'

'Nor threaten you, child?'

'Well, _no_--no, she does not threaten.'

'And how the plague _does_ she frighten you, child?'

'Well, I really--I'm half ashamed to tell you--you'll laugh at me--and I
don't know that she wishes to frighten me. But there is something, is not
there, ghosty, you know, about her?'

'_Ghosty_--is there? well, I'm sure I don't know, but I suspect there's
something devilish--I mean, she seems roguish--does not she? And I really
think she has had neither cold nor pain, but has just been shamming
sickness, to keep out of my way.'

I perceived plainly enough that Cousin Monica's damnatory epithet referred
to some retrospective knowledge, which she was not going to disclose to me.

'You knew Madame before,' I said. 'Who is she?'

'She assures me she is Madame de la Rougierre, and, I suppose, in French
phrase she so calls herself,' answered Lady Knollys, with a laugh, but
uncomfortably, I thought.

'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 a