get it; so much so that I sometimes
wonder why she doesn't send straight to the shop. But country cousins
never do that; for wherein would lie the use of London cousins, if they
didn't shop for their country cousins? How would they occupy their time?
She would like me please to get it at Bumpus's, because they are so
very civil and they knew her dear father. I might mention his name if I
thought fit! Now, I know quite well that it is impossible that any
one at Bumpus's, be he ever so venerable, can ever have known Cousin
Penelope's father. The name, being Smith, may no doubt be familiar. Of
course Cousin Penelope would repay any expense I incurred. In fact she
must insist on so doing.

"Insist" seems too strong a word to apply to any power that Cousin
Penelope could enforce. It would be something so gentle; persistent,
perhaps, but insistent? Never! "I beg, I implore, I entreat," would all
be suitable, but "I insist" does not suggest Cousin Penelope.

Dear Cousin Penelope, we are told, had a love-story in her youth, the
sadness of which ruined her life. It must have been a very beautiful
thing, that sorrow, to have made her what she is. One feels that it
must be a very wonderful love that is laid away in the wrappings of
submission and tied with the ribbons of resignation. There is assuredly
no bitterness about it, and I sometimes wonder if one's own sorrow
which tears and tugs at one's heart will some day leave such a record
of holiness and patience on one's face! I am afraid not. I look in the
glass, but I see nothing in the reflection which in the least resembles
Cousin Penelope, nor can I believe that time will do it, nor am I brave
enough to wish it. I cannot yet pray for a peace like hers. People say
time can do everything, but

"Time is
Too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love Time is
Eternity."

So it is written on a sun-dial I know, and when I have a sun-dial of my
own, those words shall be written thereon.

I think time lies heavily sometimes on Hugh's hands. He said one day,
"The days pass by, Betty, and we don't grow up!"

To return to booksellers. There is "Truslove and Hanson" in my more or
less immediate neighborhood, who are civil to a degree, but they did
not know Cousin Penelope's father, therefore they are not specially
qu