which she leaned as if it really were needed to support her.
She was one of those rare persons, a pretty old woman. Her complexion
was still as fair and delicate as a painting on china, her blue eyes
clear and expressive. Of course, in days when everyone wore powder,
hair was of one colour--white.

"This is Mrs Dolly Jennings," whispered Rhoda to Phoebe; "she is the
eldest of the maidens, and she is about seventy. I believe she is some
manner of cousin to the Duke--not very near, you know."

The Duke, in 1712, of course, meant the Duke of Marlborough.

"Good morning, Madam," said Mrs Jennings, in a cheerful yet gentle
voice, when she reached the carriage.

"Good morning, Mrs Dorothy. I am glad I see you well enough to
accompany me to church."

"You are very good, Madam," was the reply, as Mrs Dorothy clambered up
into the lumbering vehicle; "I thank God my rheumatic pains are as few
and easy to-day as an old woman of threescore and ten need look for."

"You are a great age, Mrs Dorothy," observed Madam.

"Yes, Madam, I thank God," returned Mrs Dorothy, as cheerfully as
before.

While Phoebe was meditating on this last answer, the second Maiden
appeared from Number Two. She was an entire contrast to the first,
being tall, sharp, featured, florid, high-nosed, and generally angular.

"Mrs Jane Talbot," whispered Rhoda.

Mrs Jane, having offered her civilities to Madam, climbed also into the
coach, and placed herself beside Mrs Dorothy.

"Marcella begs you will allow her excuses, Madam, for she is indisposed
this morning," said Mrs Jane, in a quick, sharp voice, which made
Phoebe doubt if all her angularity were outside.

While Madam was expressing her regret at this news, the doors of Numbers
Five and Six opened simultaneously, and two ladies emerged, who were, in
their way, as much a contrast as Mrs Jane and Mrs Dorothy. Number Six
reached the carriage first. She was a pleasant, comfortable looking
woman of about fifty years of age, with a round face and healthy
complexion, and a manner which, while kindly, was dignified and
self-possessed.

"Good morning, my Lady Betty!" said the three voices.

Phoebe then perceived that the seat of honour, beside Madam, had been
reserved for Lady Betty. But Number Five followed, and she was so
singular a figure that Phoebe's attention was at once diverted to her.

She looked about the age of Lady Betty, but having evidently been a
beauty in her younger days sh