are.

'Yes, I must struggle against it. We will have dinner as soon as
possible. I feel faint.'

If both of them had avowed their faintness as often as they felt it,
the complaint would have been perpetual. But they generally made a
point of deceiving each other, and tried to delude themselves;
professing that no diet could be better for their particular needs than
this which poverty imposed.

'Ah! it's a good sign to be hungry,' exclaimed Virginia. 'You'll be
better this afternoon, dear.'

Alice turned over 'The Christian Year,' and endeavoured to console
herself out of it, whilst her sister prepared the meal.

CHAPTER III

AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN

Virginia's reply to Miss Nunn's letter brought another note next
morning--Saturday. It was to request a call from the sisters that same
afternoon.

Alice, unfortunately, would not be able to leave home. Her disorder had
become a feverish cold--caught, doubtless, between open window and door
whilst the bedroom was being aired for breakfast. She lay in bed, and
her sister administered remedies of the chemist's advising.

But she insisted on Virginia leaving her in the afternoon. Miss Nunn
might have something of importance to tell or to suggest. Mrs.
Conisbee, sympathetic in her crude way, would see that the invalid
wanted for nothing.

So, after a dinner of mashed potatoes and milk ('The Irish peasantry
live almost entirely on that,' croaked Alice, 'and they are physically
a fine race'), the younger sister started on her walk to Chelsea. Her
destination was a plain, low roomy old house in Queen's Road, over
against the hospital gardens. On asking for Miss Nunn, she was led to a
back room on the ground floor, and there waited for a few moments.
Several large bookcases, a well-equipped writing-table, and kindred
objects, indicated that the occupant of the house was studious; the
numerous bunches of cut flowers, which agreeably scented the air,
seemed to prove the student was a woman.

Miss Nunn entered. Younger only by a year or two than Virginia, she was
yet far from presenting any sorrowful image of a person on the way to
old-maidenhood. She had a clear though pale skin, a vigorous frame, a
brisk movement--all the signs of fairly good health. Whether or not she
could be called a comely woman might have furnished matter for male
discussion; the prevailing voice of her own sex would have denied her
charm of feature. At first view the countenance seemed mascu