"I hope it is a pleasant secret."
"I do not think the knowledge of it will give you much pain, dearest.
You have learnt to think yourself a--a kind of an heiress of late,
have you not?"
"Papa--Mr. Sheldon--told me that I had a claim to some money; but I have
not thought much about it, except that I should give you Grote and
Macaulay in dark-brown calf, with bevelled boards and red edges, like
that edition you saw at the auctioneer's in Bond Street, and have talked
about ever since; and a horse, perhaps; and a glass porch to our
cottage."
"Well, darling, the books in dark-brown calf, and the horse, and the
glass porch, may all be ours in the future; but the money was only a
dream--it has melted away, dear."
"Is that all?" asked Charlotte. "Why, I dare say the day will come when
you will be as rich as Sir Walter Scott."
"In the meantime I have something to give you instead of the money."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; a cousin. Will that do as well, my love?"
"A cousin? I shall like her very much if she is nice."
"The cousin I mean is a gentleman."
"But where is he to come from?" cried Charlotte, laughing. Has he
dropped from the moon? The only relations I have the world are Uncle and
Aunt Mercer. How can you pretend to find me a cousin?"
"Do you remember telling me of your grandmother's only sister--Susan
Meynell?"
"Yes," said Charlotte, with a sudden blush; "I remember.
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