, and
decorations, and sisterhoods! I don't wish any harm to poor dear old
Mr Shirley, I am sure; but when Frank is in the Rectory--"

"I thought you understood that Frank would not do for the Rectory,"
said Miss Leonora. "Sisterhoods!--look here, there's a young lady in a
grey cloak, and I think she's going into _that_ shop: if Frank carries
on that sort of thing, I shall think him a greater fool than ever. Who
is that girl?"

"I'm sure I don't know, dear," said Miss Dora, with unexpected wisdom.
And she comforted her conscience that she did not know, for she had
forgotten Lucy's name. So there was no tangible evidence to confirm
Miss Leonora's doubts, and the carriage from the Blue Boar rattled
down Prickett's Lane to the much amazement of that locality. When they
got to the grimy canal-banks, Miss Leonora stopped the vehicle and got
out. She declined the attendance of her trembling sister, and marched
along the black pavement, dispersing with the great waves of her
drapery the wondering children about, who swarmed as children will
swarm in such localities. Arrived at the schoolroom, Miss Leonora
found sundry written notices hung up in a little wooden frame inside
the open door. All sorts of charitable businesses were carried on
about the basement of the house; and a curt little notice about the
Provident Society diversified the list of services which was hung up
for the advantage of the ignorant. Clearly the Curate of St Roque's
meant it. "As well as he knows how," his aunt allowed to herself, with
a softening sentiment; but, pushing her inquiries further, was shown
up to the schoolroom, and stood pondering by the side of the
reading-desk, looking at the table which was contrived to be so like
an altar. The Curate, who could not have dreamed of such a visit, and
whose mind had been much occupied and indifferent to externals on the
day before, had left various things lying about, which were carefully
collected for him upon a bench. Among them was a little pocket copy of
Thomas a Kempis, from which, when the jealous aunt opened it, certain
little German prints, such as were to be had by the score at Masters's,
dropped out, some of them unobjectionable enough. But if the Good
Shepherd could not be found fault with, the feelings of Miss Leonora may
be imagined when the meek face of a monkish saint, inscribed with some
villanous Latin inscription, a legend which began with the terrible
words _Ora pro nobis_, became sudd