In due time they were ready to receive visitors, and I went to their room. I knew what to expect, but it was too much for me. Phew! They were there, black eye and all. Half undressed, quite unwashed, a nice pair of harridans; no furniture saving an old rusty bedstead, on which were some rags. The thought of the poor woman below and her young children gave me courage. "I see how it is, you old sinners. Shame on you for forcing yourselves into this poor woman's house! You are not fit to live anywhere but in a pigsty. If you don't get out I will have the pair of you carted to the workhouse. I will see that you get no more from Lady ----. If you don't get out pretty quick, I will myself put you out." One of them came forward in a threatening attitude, saying: "I will let you know that my father was your superior." I told them that I was glad I never knew their father if he at all resembled them. I called the landlady, and told her to fetch a policeman, as they were trespassers, and had no right in her room. But the landlady said, if that was the case, her husband would put them out in the afternoon; it being Saturday, he would be home early. Then the torrent of abuse began. They rose to the occasion, and gave vent to their feelings, I am sorry to say, in vulgar English. Had it been Welsh, it would not have mattered, but slum English expressed with Welsh fervour was too much for me. I left. I was, however, to have a still more striking proof of the power that Welsh "ladies" have to express themselves in very vulgar English, for the same evening, after having refreshed themselves, they forced an entrance when my front door responded to their knock and ring. Fortunately my wife was away. I was called to interview the two "ladies" and the black eye. They were inside--there could be no mistake about that; the door was closed, too. As soon as they saw me there was a soprano and contralto duet. "What did you write to Lady ---- for? Do you say we are dirty? Who told you we got drunk? Why did you come so early? Ragged, are we? Help to have us put out, would you? You are a nice Christian!" I brushed past them and opened the front door. "Fetch a policeman, will you? We'll have the law for you, you scoundrel! robber! thief!" I seized the one with the decorated eye, and out she went. In a twinkling the other sister was after her, and before they realized it, the front door was closed and bolted. Then the storm began, and for thirty-five minutes they kept it up. Every choice expression known to the blackguards of London tripped lightly but emphatically from their tongues; sometimes in unison, sometimes in horrible discord, sometimes singly, and sometimes together they kept it up. They ran through the whole gamut of discordant notes--_fortissimo_ generally, _piano_ only when breath failed. When quite exhausted, one took charge of the knocker, the other of the bell, and instrumental music followed the vocal.