Clotilde bounded to the piano, and began to practise a singing lesson, her rich contralto voice rising and falling as she ran up an arpeggio, trying to make it accord with five notes struck together out of tune; Marie darted to a chair, and snatched up a quill pen, inked her forefinger, and bent over a partly written exercise on composition--a letter addressed to a lady of title, to be written in the style of Steele; and Ruth snatched up a piece of needlework, and began to sew. Then the door opened, and Markes, the nurse, appeared. "Miss Clotilde and Miss Marie to come to the dining-room directly." "What for, Markes?" cried Clotilde, pausing in the middle of a rich-toned run full of delicious melody. "Come and see. There, I'll tell you--may as well, I suppose. Dressmaker to measure you for some new frocks." "La--ra--ra--ra--ra--ra--ra--rah!" sang Clotilde in a powerful crescendo, as she swung round upon the music-stool and then leaped up, while Marie rose slowly, with a quiet, natural grace. "Am--am I to come, too?" said Ruth. "You? No. It's them," said Markes grimly. "Fine goings on, 'pon my word." "What are fine goings on, Markes?" cried Clotilde. "Why, ordering new dresses. Better buy a new carpet for one of the bedrooms, and spend a little more money on the living. I'm getting sick of the pinching and griping ways." "I say, Markes, what's for dinner to-day?" exclaimed Marie, on finding the woman in a more communicative mood than usual. "Cold boiled mutton." "Ugh!" ejaculated Clotilde. "I hate cold mutton. Is there no pudding?" "Yes; it's pudding day." "That's better. What pudding is it?" Markes shook her head. "Tell me, and I'll give you a kiss," said Clotilde. "If your aunts was to hear you talk like that they'd have fits," grumbled the woman. "It's rice-pudding." "Baked?" "No." "Boiled in milk?" "No--plain boiled." "Sauce or jam with it?" "Sauce or jam!" said the woman, in tones of disgust. "Neither on 'em, but sugar and a bit o' butter; and think yourselves lucky to get that. New dresses, indeed! It's shameful; and us in the kitchen half-starved!" "Well, we can't help it," said Marie. "I'm sure we don't live any too well." "No, you don't," said the woman, grinning. "But it does seem a shame to go spending money as they seem to mean to do on you two. I 'spose you're going to be married, ain't you?" "I don't know," said Clotilde. "Are we?" "There, don't ask me. I don't know nothing at all about it, and I shan't speak a word. I only know what I heard them say." "Do tell us, Marky dear, there's a dear, good old nursey, and we'll do just as you tell us," said Clotilde, in a wheedling way. "You both make haste down, or you'll both have double lessons to get off, so I tell you." "But tell us," said Marie, "and we'll both give you a kiss." "You keep your kisses for your rich husbands, my dears, and I hope you'll like giving 'em--that's all I can say. I told you so: there goes the bell."