"
"What unusual words for a pair of street singers!" Miss Bunce
murmured, setting down the tea-pot. But as Miss Charlotte was busy
cracking an egg, and Miss Susan in a sort of coma, dwelling perhaps
on death and its terrors, the remark went unheeded.
"Citizens, doff your coats of black,
And dress to suit the almanack--
Cuckoo--"
The voices broke off, and a rat-tat sounded on the front door.
"Say that we never give to beggars, under any circumstances,"
murmured Miss Susan, waking out of her lethargy.
The servant entered with a scrap of crumpled paper in her hand.
"There was a woman at the door who wished to see Miss Lefanu."
"Say that we never give--" Miss Susan began again, fumbling with the
note. "Bunce, I have on my gold-rimmed spectacles, and cannot read
with them, as you know. The black-rimmed pair must be up-stairs, on
the--"
"How d'ye do, my dears?" interrupted a brisk voice. In the doorway
stood a plump middle-aged woman, nodding her head rapidly. She wore
a faded alpaca gown, patched here and there, a shawl of shepherd's
plaid stained with the weather, and a nondescript bonnet. Her face
was red and roughened, as if she lived much out of doors.
"How d'ye do?" she repeated "I'm Joanna."
Miss Bunce rose, and going discreetly to the window, pretended to
gaze into the street. Joanna, as she knew, was the name of the old
ladies' only step-sister, who had eloped from home twenty years
before, and (it was whispered) had disgraced the family.
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