MISS SUSANNAH CHRESSHAM OBSERVES"You ask me about Rose-what can I say? Alas, that my talents should not be equal to your curiosity! My letters at best are feeble productions, and when I have a deliberate request to answer I swear my pen refuses its duty. 'Tell me about Rose,' you say. 'Our one meeting, two years ago, remains in my mind.' And you would know more of the most charming person you ever met-so I finish the sentence for you!"And rightly, I am sure. But, again, what can I say? I know too much, and not enough."I have chosen a wet day to write to you and the afternoon hours when my duties are done, so that nothing interferes between us but my faltering pen. Aunt Agatha sits in the next room making knots. You see how I avoid the subject! And now how I valiantly strive faithfully to answer you."You say you have heard 'whispers and more than whispers in London.' You imply about Rose, and I cannot pretend not to understand.