Fanny’s face flushed. It became a vivid crimson, then the color faded slowly from her cheeks; and she looked at Miss Symes, amazement in her glance. “My cousins—the Vivians!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean Betty—Betty and her sisters?”
“Yes, I think Betty is the name of one of the girls.”
“There are three,” said Fanny. “There’s Betty, who is about my age; and then there are the twins, Sylvia and Hetty.”
“Then, of course, you do know them, dear?”
“Yes, I know them. I went to stay with them in Scotland for a week during last holidays. My cousin—their aunt, Miss Vivian—was very ill, however, and we had to keep things rather quiet. They lived at a place called Craigie Muir—quite beautiful, you know, but very, very wild.”
“That doesn’t matter, dear.”
“Well, why are you speaking to me about them? They are my cousins, and I spent a week with them not very long ago.”
“You observed how ill Miss Vivian was?”
“I used to hear that she was ill; Sylvia used to tell me. Betty couldn’t stand anything sad or depressing, so I never spoke to her on the subject.”
“And you—you liked your cousins? You appreciated them, did you not, Fanny?”