This to Miss Penelope, who is afraid of strangers in any guise, appears such a fearful mission that she pales, and says, tremblingly,—
"But you too will be present at our first meeting? I must indeed beg you to be present, my dear Priscilla."
"Of course, of course," says Miss Priscilla, encouragingly. Then, doubtfully, "I hope the boy won't take a dislike to us."
"I wonder how we shall get on with children," says Miss Penelope. She is evidently growing extremely nervous. "It seems so strange they should be coming here to the old house."
"Monica cannot be a child now. She must be at least eighteen," says Miss Priscilla, thoughtfully. "It was in 1863 that——"
"1864, I think," interrupts Miss Penelope.
"1863," persists Miss Priscilla.
"You may be right, my dear," says Miss Penelope, mildly but firmly, "you often are,—but I know it was in '64 that——"
"What?" asks Miss Priscilla, sharply.
"The Desmond jilted our Katherine."