“Ah! and I see money; but here is this horrible ace of spades—the death card.”

At this instant we heard a strange voice, and a sound of scuffling steps in the passage.

“Some one is coming!” I had barely uttered the warning, and Emma had only time to throw a newspaper over the pack, when Mrs. Gabb, flinging open the door, shrilly announced, “Miss Skuce.”

Whereupon a tall elderly lady, in a long damp waterproof, bounced into the room, showing every one of her front teeth.

“Pray excuse my calling at this late hour,” she said, shaking hands with us effusively. [67]“At least, it is not really late, only half-past four, quite visiting time still; but it is so dark, it might be the middle of the night.”

[67]

To which statement we politely assented, and also further conceded “that it had been a shockingly wet day.”

“And how do you like dear little Stonebrook?” she asked. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll just take off my cloak.”

“Oh, it is not very lively,” replied Emma; “but then, I came here for my health.”

“Ah, indeed,” rising to hang her waterproof carefully over a chair, and taking a seat nearer to Emma whom she stared at exhaustively.

Emma, though thin and fragile, was still a pretty woman. She wore a handsome black satin and lace tea-gown (a remnant of better days); diamonds (of ditto) sparkled on her wasted hands, and [68]her expressive eyes were lit up with vivacity. Even this unexpected visit from a garrulous old maid made quite an agreeable break in the otherwise dreary wet day.

[68]

“How long shall you stay, do you think?”

“I really have not formed any plans—possibly all the winter.”

“And Miss——,” looking at me interrogatively. “Surely not your daughter?”

“No, my step-daughter—Miss Hayes.”

“It’s a terrible dull place for young people, especially if they are accustomed to India,” smiling at me blandly.

“I have never been in India since I was two months old,” I replied with precipitation.

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