At the Manor there were a few other visitors who had not attended church,--none of them important, except to themselves and the society paragraphist,--none of them distinguished as ever having done anything particularly good, or useful in the world,--and none of them possessing any very unconventional characteristics, with the exception of two very quaint old ladies, who were known somewhat irreverently among their acquaintances as the 'Sisters Gemini.' They were of good birth and connection, but, being cast adrift as wrecks on the shores of Time,--the one as a widow, the other as a spinster,--had sworn eternal friendship on the altar of their several disillusioned and immolated affections. In the present day we are not overtroubled by any scruples of reverence for either old widowhood or old spinsterhood; and the 'Sisters Gemini' had become a standing joke with the self-styled 'wise and witty' of London restaurants and late suppers. Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby were their actual names, and they were happily unconscious of the unfeeling sobriquet bestowed upon them when they were out of hearing. Lady Wicketts had once been a reigning 'beauty,' and she lived on the reputation of that glorious past. Miss Fosby aided and abetted her in this harmless self-deception. Lady Wicketts had been painted by all the famous artists of her era, from the time of her seventeeth birthday to her thirtieth. She had been represented as a 'Shepherdess,' a 'Madonna,' a 'Girl with Lilies,' a 'Lady with a Greyhound,' a 'Nymph Sleeping,' and more briefly and to the purpose, as 'Portrait of Lady Wicketts,' in every exhibition of pictures that had been held during her youth and prime. Miss Fosby carried prints and photographs of these works of art everywhere about with her. She would surprise people by casually taking one of them out of her album and saying softly "Isn't that beautiful?" And then, if the beholders fell into the trap and uttered exclamations of rapture at the 'Shepherdess' or the 'Madonna,' or whatever allegorical subject it happened to be, she would smile triumphantly and say-'Lady Wicketts!'--to all appearance enjoying the violent shock of incredulous amazement which her announcement invariably inflicted on all those who received it. "Not possible!" they would murmur--"Lady Wicketts---!" "Yes,--Lady Wicketts when she was young,"--Miss Fosby would say mildly--"She was very beautiful when she was twenty. She is sixty- seven now. But she is still beautiful,--don't you think so? She has such an angelic expression! And she is so good--ah!--so very goodl There is no one like Lady Wicketts!"