she remembered that her father and mother
had never talked to her about anything in particular.
Certainly they had never told her things.

"Humph," muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at
her queer, unresponsive little face. She did not
say any more for a few moments and then she began
again.

"I suppose you might as well be told something -- to
prepare you. You are going to a queer
place."

Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock
looked rather discomfited by her apparent indifference,
but, after taking a breath, she went on.

"Not but that it's a grand big place in a gloomy
way, and Mr. Craven's proud of it in his way -- and
that's gloomy enough, too. The house is six
hundred years old and it's on the edge of the moor,
and there's near a hundred rooms in it, though
most of them's shut up and locked. And there's
pictures and fine old furniture and things that's
been there for ages, and there's a big park round
it and gardens and trees with branches trailing to
the ground -- some of them." She paused and
took another breath. "But there's nothing else,"
she ended suddenly.

Mary had begun to listen in spite of herself.
It all sounded so unlike India, and anything new
rather attracted her. But she did not intend to

[[18]]

p017 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p018w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p019

v?