Her own People by B. M. Croker

It was five o'clock on a June evening; a day of tropical heat had almost prostrated London, and many people were in the Park, strolling slowly to and fro, or sitting on penny chairs, watching the crowds near the Achilles statue. Among these lookers-on were Sir Horace Haig and his nephew, recently returned from India on sick leave. Sir Horace's little blue eyes peered forth from beneath their shaggy brows, with an even fiercer intentness than of old, as he leant on his cane, and delivered criticisms on those unfortunates who passed along the surrounding brown grass.

"I say, see these smart women! " he growled, "Mrs. Blynne and her daughter -- flaunting in French frocks. I'll swear they live in two rooms, and have not a stiver over three hundred a year. How the dickens do they do it?"