sitting-room door.

It was opened from within before he could turn the handle, and a
shrill voice, exaggerating those of the girls, showered welcomes with
such rapidity, that Albinia was seated at the table, and had been
helped to cold chicken, before she could look round, or make much
answer to reiterations of 'so very kind.'

It was a small room, loaded with knicknacks and cushions, like a
repository of every species of female ornamental handiwork in vogue
for the last half century, and the luncheon-tray in the middle of
all, ready for six people, for the two girls were there, and though
Mr. Kendal stood up by the fire, and would not eat, he and his black
image, reflected backwards and forwards in the looking-glass and in
the little round mirror, seemed to take up more room than if he had
been seated.

Mrs. Meadows was slight, shrunken, and gentle-looking, with a sweet
tone in her voice, great softness of manner, and pretty blue eyes.
Albinia only wished that she had worn mourning, it would have been so
much more becoming than bright colours, but that was soon overlooked
in gratitude for her affectionate reception, and in the warmth of
feeling excited by her evident fondness and solicitude for Mr.
Kendal.

Miss Meadows was gaily dressed in youthful fashion, such as evidently
had set her off to advantage when she had been a bright, dark,
handsome girl; but her hair was thin, her cheeks haggard, the colour
hardened, and her forty years apparent, above all, in an
uncomfortable furrow on the brow and round the mouth; her voice had a