The domestic made insolent reply, and there began a war of words.

At this moment another step sounded on the stairs, and as it drew near, a female voice was raised in song.
'_And a penny in his pocket, la-de-da, la-de-da,--and a penny in his pocket, la-de-da_!' A younger girl, this, of much slighter build; with a frisky gait, a jaunty pose of the head; pretty, but thin-featured, and shallow-eyed; a long neck, no chin to speak of, a low forehead with the hair of washed-out flaxen fluffed all over it.

Her dress was showy, and in a taste that set the teeth on edge.

Fanny French, her name.
'What's up?
Another row ?' she asked, entering the room as the servant went out.
'I've known a good many fools,' said Beatrice, 'but Ada's the biggest I've come across yet.' 'Is she?
Well, I shouldn't wonder,' Fanny admitted impartially.

And with a skip she took up her song again.