low, upon which
she especially prided herself, lay raggedly pinned together on the top
of her flat head. She was about twenty-eight years old, but at present
looked more than thirty. Her features resembled Fanny's, but had a much
less amiable expression, and betokened, if the thing were possible, an
inferior intellect. Fresh from the morning basin, her cheeks displayed
that peculiar colourlessness which results from the habitual use of
paints and powders; her pale pink lips, thin and sullen, were curiously
wrinkled; she had eyes of slate colour, with lids so elevated that she
always seemed to be staring in silly wonder.

'So you've got breakfast, have you?' were her first words, in a thin and
rather nasal voice. 'You may think yourselves lucky.'

'You have a cheek of your own,' replied Beatrice. 'Whose place is it to
see that we get meals?'

'And what can any one do with servants like I've got?' retorted the
married sister.

'It's your own fault. You should get better; and when you've got them,
you should manage them. But that's just what you can't do.'

'Oh, _you_'d be a wonderful housekeeper, we know all about that. If
you're not satisfied, you'd better find board and lodging somewhere
else, as I've told you often enough. You're not likely to get it as
cheap.'

They squabbled for some minutes, Fanny looking on with ingenuous
amusement, and putting in a word, now for this side, now for that.

'And what am I going to have for breakfast?' demanded Mrs. Peachey
at length, surveying the table. 'You've taken jolly good care of
yourselves, it seems to me.'

She jumped up, and rang the bell. When a minute's interval brought no
reply, she rang again. Beatrice thought it probable that the bell might
be rung without effect, 'till all was blue.'

'We'll see about that,' answered her sister, and forthwith invaded the
lower parts of the house. Thence, presently, her voice became audible,
rising gradually to shrillness; with it there blended the rougher
accents of the housemaid, now in reckless revolt. Beatrice listened for
a minute or two in the hall, then passed on into the drawing-room with a
contemptuous laugh. Fanny, to whom the uproar seemed to bring a renewal
of appetite, cut herself a slice of bread and butter, and ate it as she
stood at the window.

'Dirty cat! beast! swine!'

The mistress of the house, fairly beaten away by superior force of
vocabulary, reappeared with these and other exclamations, her face