But, although decided and prompt as ever, Miss Benson was grown older since the summer afternoon when she dismounted from the coach at the foot of the long Welsh hill that led to Llan-dhu, where her brother awaited her to consult her about Ruth.  Though her eye was as bright and straight-looking as ever, quick and brave in its glances, her hair had become almost snowy white; and it was on this point she consulted Sally, soon after the date of Leonard’s last untruth.  The two were arranging Miss Benson’s room one morning, when, after dusting the looking-glass, she suddenly stopped in her operation, and after a close inspection of herself, startled Sally by this speech—­

“Sally!  I’m looking a great deal older than I used to do!”

Sally, who was busy dilating on the increased price of flour, considered this remark of Miss Benson’s as strangely irrelevant to the matter in hand, and only noticed it by a—­

“To be sure!  I suppose we all on us do.  But two-and-fourpence a dozen is too much to make us pay for it.”

Miss Benson went on with her inspection of herself, and Sally with her economical projects.

“Sally!” said Miss Benson, “my hair is nearly white.  The last time I looked it was only pepper-and-salt.  What must I do?”

“Do—­why, what would the wench do?” asked Sally contemptuously.  “Ye’re never going to be taken in, at your time of life, by hair-dyes and such gimcracks, as can only take in young girls whose wisdom-teeth are not cut.”

“And who are not very likely to want them,” said Miss Benson quietly.  “No! but you see, Sally, it’s very awkward having such grey hair, and feeling so young.  Do you know, Sally, I’ve as great a mind for dancing, when I hear a lively tune on the street-organs, as ever; and as great a mind to sing when I’m happy—­to sing in my old way, Sally, you know.”

“Ay, you had it from a girl,” said Sally; “and many a time, when the door’s been shut, I did not know if it was you in the parlour, or a big bumble-bee in the kitchen, as was making that drumbling noise.  I heard you at it yesterday.”

“But an old woman with grey hair ought not to have a fancy for dancing or singing,” continued Miss Benson.

“Whatten nonsense are ye talking?” said Sally, roused to indignation.  “Calling yoursel’ an old woman when you’re better than ten years younger than me; and many a girl has grey hair at five-and-twenty.”

“But I’m more than five-and-twenty, Sally—­I’m fifty-seven next May!”

“More shame for ye, then, not to know better than to talk of dyeing your hair.  I cannot abide such vanities!”

“Oh dear!  Sally, when will you understand what I mean?  I want to know how I’m to keep remembering how old I am, so as to prevent myself from feeling so young?  I was quite startled just now to see my hair in the glass, for I can generally tell if my cap is straight by feeling.  I’ll tell you what I’ll do—­I’ll cut off a piece of my grey hair, and plait it together for a marker in my Bible!” Miss Benson expected applause for this bright idea, but Sally only made answer—­