And as usual, when she was foiled even in a trifle, she became sullen and malignant.
That night, when my father and I were alone, he suddenly closed the book he had been reading, and said-- 'I heard from Monica Knollys to-day.

I always liked poor Monnie; and though she's no witch, and very wrong-headed at times, yet now and then she does say a thing that's worth weighing.

Did she ever talk to you of a time, Maud, when you are to be your own mistress ?' 'No,' I answered, a little puzzled, and looking straight in his rugged, kindly face.
'Well, I thought she might--she's a rattle, you know--always _was_ a rattle, and that sort of people say whatever comes uppermost.

But that's a subject for me, and more than once, Maud, it has puzzled me.' He sighed.
'Come with me to the study, little Maud.' So, he carrying a candle, we crossed the lobby, and marched together through the passage, which at night always seemed a little awesome, darkly wainscoted, uncheered by the cross-light from the hall, which was lost at the turn, leading us away from the frequented parts of the house to that misshapen and lonely room about which the traditions of the nursery and the servants' hall had had so many fearful stories to recount.
I think my father had intended making some disclosure to me on reaching this room.

If so, he changed his mind, or at least postponed his intention.
He had paused before the cabinet, respecting the key of which he had given me so strict a charge, and I think he was going to explain himself more fully than he had done.