As Candida stood blinking on the threshold, the Misses Benevent rose from two small golden chairs placed on either side of the hearth.

Against all that white and gold they looked very small and black – two little dark women in black taffeta dresses with spreading skirts and tightly fitting bodices. The dresses were exactly alike, and so were the collars of old lace, each fastened by a diamond star. Candida saw the dresses first, but they were not the only things which were alike. There was the strongest possible resemblance of figure, face, and feature. Both were little and thin, both had small features, neatly arched eyebrows, and black eyes, and, most remarkably, neither of them appeared to have a grey hair. They were her grandmother’s sisters but the small erectly carried heads were covered with shining black hair quite elaborately dressed. Grey would have been kinder to the little pinched faces and the sallow skins.

They did not move to meet her, but stood there against the background of a portentous marble mantelpiece. Walking up to them was rather like being presented at Court. She had to repress the feeling that a curtsy would be appropriate. Her hand was briefly taken, her cheek was briefly touched. Twice. Each Miss Benevent said, ‘How do you do?’ and the ceremony was over.

There was a little silence whilst they looked at her. From over the mantelpiece a mirror in a gilt frame reflected the scene – Candida in her grey coat, her bright hair showing under a matching beret, and a flush on her cheek because the room was hot and strange and she changed colour easily, and the little black ladies looking at her like a pair of puppets waiting to be jerked into life by an unseen string. They stared at her, and the string jerked. The one on her right said,

‘I am Olivia Benevent. This is my sister Cara. You are Candida Sayle. You do not resemble the Benevents at all. It is a pity.’