"How d'ye do?" she repeated "I'm Joanna."

Miss Bunce rose, and going discreetly to the window, pretended to
gaze into the street. Joanna, as she knew, was the name of the old
ladies' only step-sister, who had eloped from home twenty years
before, and (it was whispered) had disgraced the family. As for the
Misses Lefanu, being unused to rise without help, they spread out
their hands as if stretching octaves on the edge of the table, and
feebly stared.

"Joanna," began the elder, tremulously, "if you have come to ask
charity--"

"Bless your heart, no! What put that into your head?" She advanced
and took the chair which Miss Bunce had left, and resting her elbows
on the table, regarded her sisters steadily. "What a preposterous
age you both must be, to be sure! My husband's waiting for me
outside."

"Your husband?" Miss Charlotte quavered.

"Why, of course. Did you suppose, because I ran away to act, that I
wasn't an honest woman?" She stretched out her left hand; and there
was a thin gold ring on her third finger. "He isn't much of an
actor, poor dear. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he has
been hissed off two-and-thirty stages in Great Britain alone.
Indeed, he's the very worst actor I ever saw, although I don't tell
him. But as a husband he's sublime."