'Well? what does this mean?'

'The cook doesn't feel well, miss; she can't get up.

'Then get breakfast yourself, and look sharp about it.'

Beatrice spoke with vehemence; her cheeks showed a circle of richer
hue around the unchanging rose. The domestic made insolent reply,
and there began a war of words. At this moment another step sounded
on the stairs, and as it drew near, a female voice was raised in
song.

'_And a penny in his pocket, la-de-da, la-de-da,--and a penny in
his pocket, la-de-da_!'

A younger girl, this, of much slighter build; with a frisky gait, a
jaunty pose of the head; pretty, but thin-featured, and
shallow-eyed; a long neck, no chin to speak of, a low forehead with
the hair of washed-out flaxen fluffed all over it. Her dress was
showy, and in a taste that set the teeth on edge. Fanny French, her
name.

'What's up? Another row?' she asked, entering the room as the
servant went out.

'I've known a good many fools,' said Beatrice, 'but Ada's the
biggest I've come across yet.'

'Is she? Well, I shouldn't wonder,' Fanny admitted impartially. And
with a skip she took up her song again. '_A penny paper collar round