"One of
them is English, or at least Irish: Miss Prunty."
"And the other?"
"She is an Italian, Signora Petrucci; she used to be very handsome."
"Oh," said Goneril, looking pleased. "I'm glad she's handsome, and that
they speak English. But they are not relations?"
"No, they are not connected; they are friends."
"And have they always lived together?"
"Ever since Madame Lilli died," and Miss Hamelyn named a very celebrated
singer.
"Why?" cried Goneril, quite excited; "were they singers too?"
"Madame Petrucci; nevertheless a lady of the highest respectability.
Miss Prunty was Madame Lilli's secretary."
"How nice!" cried the young girl, "how interesting! Oh, auntie, I'm so
glad you found them out."
"So am I, child; but please remember it is not an ordinary pension. They
only take you, Goneril, till you are strong enough to travel, as an
especial favour to me and to their old friend, Mrs. Gorthrup."
"I'll remember, auntie."
By this time they were driving under the terrace in front of the little
house.
"Goneril," said the elder lady, "I shall leave you outside; you can play
in the garden or the orchard."
"Very well."
Miss Hamelyn left the carriage and ascended the steep little flight of
steps that leads from the road to the cottage garden.
In the porch a singular figure was awaiting her.
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