“I’d forgotten about them,” she said.
The cousins were an elderly lady and gentleman who paid a visit every year to Mary’s uncle and aunt, and expected a good deal of attention.
“Never mind, auntie,” she went on, after a moment’s silence, “I won’t be dull. I’ll play a lot with the little ones.”
“But wait a minute, dear,” said her aunt. “I won’t force it upon you, but it is only right I should tell you of an invitation I have for you—from one of your godmothers—Miss Verity, do you remember her?”
“No,” said Mary, “I don’t remember her, but she always sends me a present on my birthday, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” said her aunt, “she is very kind and very nice every way. See here, dear, this is her letter; I think you can read the writing; it is so clear.”
It was beautiful writing—almost too fine and small, but such perfectly shaped letters that it was as easy to read as printing.
“My dear Charlotte,” it said—“I have always wished to make the acquaintance of my god-daughter, your little niece, Mary. And now that we are such very much nearer neighbours, this could surely be easily arranged. Will you spare her to me for a few weeks? I think I can almost promise you that I could make her happy, even though I have no young companions for her, and the most beautiful part of the year is past—though to my thinking, it is always beautiful here. I can send my maid, Pleasance, whom I daresay you remember, to fetch her, any day next week that would be convenient. I daresay a little holiday would do Mary no harm, and indeed she can go on with any of her lessons you like while with me, as I am very fond of teaching.—Your affectionate old friend, Felicia Verity.”
Mary read the letter slowly and carefully, but still she shook her head as she gave it back to its owner.