Frances Lorimer, the eldest of them all, and half-sister to the other three, was a stout, fair woman of thirty, presenting somewhat the appearance of a large and superannuated baby. She had a big face, with small, meaningless features, and faint, surprised-looking eyebrows. Her complexion had once been charmingly pink and white, but the tints had hardened, and a coarse red colour clung to the wide cheeks. At the present moment, her little, light eyes red with weeping, her eyebrows arched higher than ever, she looked the picture of impotent distress. She had come in, hand in hand with Phyllis, the youngest, tallest, and prettiest of the sisters; a slender, delicate-looking creature of seventeen, who had outgrown her strength; the spoiled child of the family by virtue of her youth, her weakness, and her personal charms. Gertrude was the first to speak. "Now that we are all together," she said, "it is a good opportunity for talking over our plans. There are a great many things to be considered, as you know. Phyllis, you had better not stand." Phyllis cast her long, supple frame into the lounge which was regarded as her special property, and Fanny sat down on a chair, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered pocket-handkerchief. Gertrude put her hands behind her and leaned her head against the wall. Phyllis's wide, grey eyes, with their half-wistful, half-humorous expression, glanced slowly from one to the other. "Now that we are all grouped," she said, "there is nothing left but for Lucy to focus us." It was a very small joke indeed, but they all laughed, even Fanny. No one had laughed for a fortnight, and at this reassertion of youth and health their spirits rose with unexpected rapidity. "Now, Gertrude, unfold your plans," said Lucy, in her clear tones and with her air of calm resolve. Gertrude played nervously with a copy of the _British Journal of Photography_ which she held, and began to speak with hesitation, almost with apology, as one who deprecates any undue assumption of authority. "You know that Mr. Grimshaw, our father's lawyer, was here last night," she said; "and that he and I had a long talk together about business. (He was sorry you were too ill to come down, Fanny.) He told me all about our affairs. We are quite, quite poor. When everything is settled, when the furniture is sold, he thinks there will be about L500 among us, perhaps more, perhaps less." Fanny's thin, feminine tones broke in on her sister's words-- "There is my L50 a-year that my mama left me; I am sure you are all welcome to that." "Yes, dear, yes," said Lucy, patting her shoulder; while Gertrude bit her lip and went on-- "We cannot live for long on L500, as you must know. We must work. People have been very kind. Uncle Sebastian has telegraphed for two of us to go out to India; Mrs. Devonshire offers another two of us a home for as long as we like. But I think we would all rather not accept these kind offers?"