most natural imaginable.

She showed herself to possess an ordinary woman's face, iron-grey hair,
hardly any hips, and a great deal of cleanliness in a broad white apron-
string, as it appeared upon the waist of her dark stuff dress.

"People will run away with a story now, I suppose," she began saying,
"that Jane Day's tablecloths are as poor and ragged as any union
beggar's!"

Dick now perceived that the tablecloth was a little the worse for wear,
and reflecting for a moment, concluded that 'people' in step-mother
language probably meant himself. On lifting his eyes he found that Mrs.
Day had vanished again upstairs, and presently returned with an armful of
new damask-linen tablecloths, folded square and hard as boards by long
compression. These she flounced down into a chair; then took one, shook
it out from its folds, and spread it on the table by instalments,
transferring the plates and dishes one by one from the old to the new
cloth.

"And I suppose they'll say, too, that she ha'n't a decent knife and fork
in her house!"

"I shouldn't say any such ill-natured thing, I am sure--" began Dick. But
Mrs. Day had vanished into the next room. Fancy appeared distressed.

"Very strange woman, isn't she?" said Geoffrey, quietly going on with his
dinner. "But 'tis too late to attempt curing. My heart! 'tis so growed
into her that 'twould kill her to take it out. Ay, she's very queer:
you'd be amazed to see what valuable goods we've got stowed away