they
were of that class of women who age rapidly; their hair was sadly thin,
some of their teeth had gone, and they had thin, flushed faces and large
twisted noses; but their blue eyes had a good-natured look in them.
Little in person, rather bending forward as they walked, and dressing
youthfully, they yet looked older than they really were. Their light
brown hair was worn in short, straggling ringlets in front, and twisted
up with a comb behind. Once upon a time that hair was long and tolerably
thick, but it had gradually and spitefully worn down to what it was now.
The Misses West were proud of it still, however; as may be inferred by
the disappearance of the castor oil. A short while back, somebody had
recommended to them castor oil as the best specific for bringing on
departed hair. They were inoffensive in mind and manners, rather simple,
somewhat affected and very vain, quarrelling with no person under the
sun, except Sibylla. Sibylla was the plague of their lives. So many
years younger than they, they had petted her and indulged her as a
child, until at length the child became their mistress. Sibylla was rude
and ungrateful, would cast scornful words at them and call them "old
maids," with other reproachful terms. There was open warfare between
them; but in their hearts they loved Sibylla still. They had been named
respectively Deborah and Amilly. The latter name had been intended for
Amelie; but by some mistake of the parents or of the clergyman, none of
them French scholars, Amilly, the child was christened and registered.
It remained a joke against Amilly to this day.

"Sibylla!" exclaimed Deborah, somewhat in surprise, as she shook hands
with Lionel, "I thought you had gone to Verner's Pride."

"Nobody came for me. It got dusk, and I did not care to go alone,"
replied Sibylla.

"Did you think of going to Verner's Pride this evening, Sibylla?" asked
Lionel. "Let me take you now. We shall be just in time for dinner. I'll
bring you back this evening."

"I don't know," hesitated Sibylla. The truth was, she had expected
Frederick Massingbird to come for her. "I--think--I'll--go," she slowly
said, apparently balancing some point in her mind.

"If you do go, you should make haste and put your things on," suggested
Miss Amilly. And Sibylla acquiesced, and left the room.

"Has Mr. Jan been told that the tea's ready, I wonder?" cried Miss
Deborah.

Mr. Jan apparently had been told, for he entered as she was sp