“Dear me, Miss Dopping!” exclaimed her hostess, rising with an effort from the depths of a low seat. “This is indeed an unexpected pleasure. It is ages since I have seen you! Do come near the fire. Ah, I forgot, you are not one of its worshippers, like me. I would rather dispense with my dinner than my fire!” “You would not say that, if you had tried it,” rejoined Miss Dopping, seating herself bolt upright, and gazing sharply around her. Mrs. Redmond shook her head from side to side, like a great pendulum, and leant back in her chair, and crossed her arms over her extensive waist. She was a majestic matron, dressed in black, with heavy regular features, little hard yellowish eyes, and a deliberate delivery. Her thick grey hair was covered with a black cap, and her plump hands with a pair of soiled grey kid gloves, minus their finger-tops. Isabel or Belle--“Belle and the Dragon” were the names by which she and her mother were known in certain profane circles--lounged in an easy attitude in a basket chair, holding an _Irish Times_ between her face and the fire. It was a handsome face, and she did well to protect it. Belle was a young lady of, shall we say, seven and twenty?--at any rate she says so herself, and looks no more, and of course every woman is the age she looks--with a pair of dangerous black eyes, straight black brows, a short upper lip, a pointed chin, and a sufficient supply of wavy dark hair. A small, graceful figure and a slender foot, were not the least of her attractions. But at present, neither figure nor foot are seen to any advantage, for she wears a dilapidated old red tea-gown, with ragged laces and stained front, and a pair of extremely _passée_ slippers. In fact Belle’s toilette must not be too closely scanned. “Now, don’t look at me! Don’t look at me,” she said, gesticulating with much animation, and playfully holding the newspaper between Miss Dopping and herself. “I know I am an awful object; but in winter, I never adorn myself unless I am going out--there is no one to dress for!” “No _men_, you mean,” amended Miss Dopping, severely. “Yes, I do. There is not a man at this side of Ballingoole, except Major Malone and Dr. Doran.” “And _he_ is an old woman,” observed Miss Finny tartly--but naturally the daughter of the late practitioner had but scant mercy on her father’s successor. “You are a great visitor these times, Mrs. Finny,” remarked Miss Dopping, pointedly. “Well, dear, just once in a way, you know,” returned Mrs. Finny apologetically. “Only just once in a way.”