Miss Pelch had a thin drooping figure, a pensive face with pale skin, pale eyebrows, pale eyes, pale lips, in fact she was all pallid, and wore her thin brown hair in girlish curls, with two drooping over her ears after the style of those called "kiss-me-quicks." She generally wore an ancient black silk dress, with lace cuffs and lace collar fastened by a large brooch containing the portrait (done in oil by a village artist) of her late father. Seated at the window, in the dull light of an October day, Miss Fetch, having been worsted in an encounter with Aunt Jelly over the question of reading one of her effusions, was drooping like a withered flower over the manuscript, and could hardly read her own scratchy writing for tears. Aunt Jelly was is her usual place, sitting bolt upright, with her woolly-haired poodle, Coriolanus, at her feet, and no sound disturbed the quiet save an occasional patter of Minnie's tears, or the vicious clicking of Aunt Jelly's needles. On the table in the centre of the room were decanters of port and sherry and a plate of cake, for Miss Corbin was expecting her nephew, Guy, and his wife, to call on her that afternoon, the young couple having just arrived from the Continent, and always gave her visitors wine in preference to tea, which she characterised tersely as "wash." Miss Corbin opened her mouth once or twice to make a remark, but, casting an angry glance at the tearful Minnie, shut it again without uttering a sound, and knitted with redoubled fury. At last her stoicism could hold out no longer, and she called out in her strong, clear voice: "For Heaven's sake, Minnie, stop crying. There's plenty of rain outside, without you bringing it into the house." "Very well, Miss Jelly," said Minnie meekly, and drying her eyes, she slipped her poem into her pocket and sat with folded hands, looking as if she carried the weight of the world on her round shoulders. Aunt Jelly looked at her keenly for a moment, and then issued another command. "Come here, child." Minnie rose to her feet and drifted across the room, for her mode of getting about could hardly be called walking. "You mustn't cry because I don't listen to your poetry," said Aunt Jelly grimly. "I hate poetry--it's all rubbish, and I can't and won't stand it. But I daresay your poetry's all right--it sounds sing-songy enough. Wait till Mr. Gartney comes home, and then you can read it to him. I've no doubt it's as good as his own. Now take a glass of port, and stop your whimpering." "Oh, no, Miss Jelly," said Minnie' in a frightened tone. "Oh, yes, Miss Minnie," mimicked the old lady fiercely. "Do what I tell you--it will put some blood into you." "Tea!" began Miss Pelch nervously. "Tea! wash!" snorted Aunt Jelly disdainfully, "there's no strength in tea, girl. You might as well drink vinegar. Your blood's like water; I'm sure I don't know how your father reared you." "Father was a vegetarian," volunteered Minnie, in mild triumph.