ed, dear lady?" asked the canon, anxiously.

"When she saw our horror and dismay she smiled."

"Did you call that a smile, Georgina? I called it a laugh. It takes
almost nothing to make her laugh nowadays."

"You would not wish her to be too melancholy," said the canon, almost
pleadingly; "one so--so charming, so--"

"Canon Birch," said Lady Belstone, in awful tones, "she is a widow."

The canon was silent, displaying an embarrassment which did not escape
the vigilant observation of the sisters, who exchanged a meaning
glance.

"Well may you remind us of the fact, Isabella," said Miss Crewys, "for
she has discarded the last semblance of mourning."

"Time flies so fast," said the canon, as though impelled to defend
the absent. "It is--getting on for three years since poor Sir Timothy
died."

"It is but two years and four months," said Miss Crewys.

"It is thirty-three years since the admiral went aloft," said Lady
Belstone, who often became slightly nautical in phrase when alluding
to her departed husband; "and look at me."

The pocket-handkerchief she held up was deeply bordered with ink.
Orthodox streamers floated on either side her severe countenance.

The canon looked and shook his head. He felt that the mysteries of a
widow's garments had best not be discussed by one who dwelt, so to
speak, outside them.

"Poor Mary can do nothing gradually," said Miss Crewys. "She leapt in
a single hour out of a black dress into a white one."

"Her anguish when our poor Timothy succumbed to that fatal operation
surpassed even the bounds of decorum," said Lady Belstone, "and
yet--she would not wear a cap!"

She appealed to the canon with such a pathetic expression in her
small, red-rimmed, grey eyes that he could not answer lightly.

They faced him with anxious looks and drooping, tremulous mouths.
They had grown curiously alike during the close association of nearly
eighty years, though in their far-off days of girlhood no one had
thought them to resemble each other.

Miss Crewys crocheted a shawl with hands so delicately cared for and
preserved, that they scarce showed any sign of her great age; her
sister wore gloves, as was the habit of both when unoccupied, and she
grasped her handkerchief in black kid fingers that trembled slightly
with emotion.

The canon realized that the old ladies were seriously troubled
concerning their sister-in-law's delinquencies.

"We speak to you, of course, as our _clergyman_,