Plans made in heaven for the discipline of sinful human flesh are always successful, and this was no exception.
We had sent a 'machine' from the inn to meet her, and when it drew up at the door we went forward to greet the rosy little Jane of our fancy.

An aged person, wearing a rusty black bonnet and shawl, and carrying what appeared to be a tin cake-box and a baby's bath-tub, descended rheumatically from the vehicle and announced herself as Miss Grieve.

She was too old to call by her Christian name, too sensitive to call by her surname, so Miss Grieve she remained, as announced, to the end of the chapter, and our rosy little Jane died before she was actually born.

The man took her grotesque luggage into the kitchen, and Salemina escorted her thither, while Francesca and I fell into each other's arms and laughed hysterically.
"Nobody need tell me that she is Mrs.M'Collop's sister's husband's niece," she whispered, "although she may possibly be somebody's grand-aunt.

Doesn't she remind you of Mrs.Gummidge ?" Salemina returned in a quarter of an hour, and sank dejectedly on the sofa.
"Run over to the inn, Francesca" she said, "and order bacon and eggs at eight-thirty to-morrow morning.