"What on earth is the meaning of all this, Ford?" poor Miss Foster exclaimed, waving her hand in the direction of the piano.
"It's been got for Miss Clonmell, 'm. This morning the men brought the piano; she brought 'er 'arp with her."
"Who brought a harp?" Miss Foster cried irritably, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "Ford, what are you talking about?"
"Miss Clonmell, miss--the young lady as have come to live here."
"A young lady! To live here! But who is she, and when did she come, and why have I been told nothing about it?"
"She's sister to the Mr. Clonmell what was here last term, 'm, and she came unexpected like on Friday evening, while Mr. Bevan was at dinner. He didn't expect her any more than you, miss."
"But what in the world has she come for? She can't stay here. Where is she?"
"I don't exactly know 'm," Ford answered, with demure enjoyment of the situation. "Mrs. Wentworth came directly after luncheon, 'm, and took her out. Miss Clonmell said as I was to ask you not to wait tea if you came before she got back, as she'll probably have hers with Mrs. Wentworth."
"Wait tea!" Miss Foster repeated, in tones that expressed volumes of determination to do nothing of the kind. "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. What is she like?"
"Oh, a very nice young lady, 'm. No one could 'elp liking 'er. The 'ouse seems a different place since she come, so much livelier; and she sings and plays something beautiful----"