Cousin Monica was always a girl in
my eyes.
What a hug it was; what a shower of kisses and ejaculations, enquiries
and caresses! At last I pressed her down into a chair, and, laughing, she
said--
'You have no idea what self-denial I have exercised to bring this visit
about. I, who detest writing, have actually written five letters to Silas;
and I don't think I said a single impertinent thing in one of them! What a
wonderful little old thing your butler is! I did not know what to make of
him on the steps. Is he a struldbrug, or a fairy, or only a ghost? Where on
earth did your uncle pick him up? I'm sure he came in on All Hallows E'en,
to answer an incantation--not your future husband, I hope--and he'll vanish
some night into gray smoke, and whisk sadly up the chimney. He's the most
venerable little thing I ever beheld in my life. I leaned back in the
carriage and thought I should absolutely die of laughing. He's gone up to
prepare your uncle for my visit; and I really am very glad, for I'm sure I
shall look as young as Hebe after _him_. But who is this? Who are you, my
dear?'
This was addressed to poor Milly, who stood at the corner of the
chimney-piece, staring with her round eyes and plump cheeks in fear and
wonder upon the strange lady.
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