paints and powders; her pale pink lips, thin and sullen, were
curiously wrinkled; she had eyes of slate colour, with lids so
elevated that she always seemed to be staring in silly wonder.

'So you've got breakfast, have you?' were her first words, in a thin
and rather nasal voice. 'You may think yourselves lucky.'

'You have a cheek of your own,' replied Beatrice. 'Whose place is it
to see that we get meals?'

'And what can any one do with servants like I've got?' retorted the
married sister.

'It's your own fault. You should get better; and when you've got
them, you should manage them. But that's just what you can't do.'

'Oh, _you_'d be a wonderful housekeeper, we know all about that. If
you're not satisfied, you'd better find board and lodging somewhere
else, as I've told you often enough. You're not likely to get it as
cheap.'

They squabbled for some minutes, Fanny looking on with ingenuous
amusement, and putting in a word, now for this side, now for that.

'And what am I going to have for breakfast?' demanded Mrs. Peachey
at length, surveying the table. 'You've taken jolly good care of
yourselves, it seems to me.'

She jumped up, and rang the bell. When a minute's interval brought
no reply, she rang again. Beatrice thought it probable that the bell