"That was so like mother," says Monica, in a low tone. "She always knew where to touch people."
"Oh, no, my dear, not at all like her," says Miss Penelope, hastily. "She didn't mean it, you must understand; she was the very soul of sweetness, and would not willingly affront any one for the world."
For just an instant Monica lifts her eyes and gazes earnestly at her aunt; but the old face is so earnest and sincere that with a faint sigh she lowers her eyes again, and makes no further remark.
"After that he married his cousin's wife, a widow with one child, this girl, Bella," says Miss Priscilla, still full of [reminiscences], as old people will be. "A most unpleasant person I thought her, though she was considered quite a belle in those days."
"She always appeared to me such a silly woman," says Miss Penelope.
"She is worse than that now," says Miss Priscilla, who seems specially hard on the Fitzgeralds. "She is a shocking old woman, with a nose like a flower-pot. I won't say she drinks, my dear Penelope, because I know you would object to it; but I hear she does, and certainly her nose is her betrayer."
"Do you remember," says Miss Penelope, "how anxious she once was to marry George Desmond?" This she says in a very low tone.
"Yes, I remember." The bare mention of her enemy's name has sent a flush of crimson into Miss Priscilla's cheeks. "But he never bestowed a thought upon her."
"Oh, no, never," says Miss Penelope, after which both the Misses Blake grow silent and seem to be slowly sinking into the land of revery.
But Monica, having heard the "enemy's name" mentioned, becomes filled with a determination to sift the mystery connected with him, now, to the end.