Mrs. Trapes herself was elderly; she was also a woman of points, being
bony and sharp featured, particularly as to elbows, which were generally
bare. Indeed, they might be said to be her most salient and obtrusive
features; but her shrewd, sharp eyes held an elusive kindliness at
times, and when she smiled, which was very rarely, her elbows and her
general sharpness were quite forgotten.

She was awaiting them in her parlour, enthroned in her best easy chair,
a chair of green velvet where purple flowers bloomed riotously, her feet
firm-planted upon a hearthrug cunningly enwrought with salmon-pink
sunflowers. Bolt upright and stiff of back she sat, making the very
utmost of her elbows, for her sleeves being rolled high (as was their
wont) and her arms being folded within her apron, they projected
themselves to left and right in highly threatening fashion. Sphinx-like
she sat, very silent and very still, while her sharp eyes roved over Mr.
Ravenslee's person from the toes of his boots to the dark hair that
curled short and crisp above his brow. Thus she looked him up and she
looked him down, viewing each garment in turn; lastly, she lifted her
gaze to his face and stared at him--eye to eye.

And eye to eye Mr. Ravenslee, serene and calm as ever, met her look,
while Spike, observing her granite-like expression and the fierce jut of
her elbows, shuffled, and glanced toward the door. But still Mrs. Trapes
glared up at Mr. Ravenslee, and still Mr. Ravenslee glanced down at Mrs.
Trapes wholly unabashed, nay--he actually smiled, and, bowing his dark
head, spoke in his easy, pleasant voice.

"A beautiful afternoon, Mrs. Trapes!"

Mrs. Trapes snorted.