But now, to return to cases, here was Marjory, his wife's own sister, lodged right under his roof; and she baffled him. He couldn't deny it—could not get away from it. Yes, she baffled him. He felt nervous in her presence. Sometimes when she would laugh, or look at him in a certain way, it seemed to him—it seemed to him—why, as though he didn't know where he stood any more....
Marjory Whitcom was his sister-in-law, one of the family; and at his own hearthside, somehow, he could not feel quite free. He could not feel cheery and at ease. And dimly it troubled the Rev. Needham to realize that he felt this way.
5
That Miss Whitcom was indeed up and stirring became evident. They heard her gaily calling out to Hilda, who was coming up the stairs.
"Dear child, see here a minute!"
Two doors opened then: hers, briskly wide; the Rev. Needham's a furtive crack.
"Yes, Aunt Marjie?"
"Honey, there isn't any water in my pitcher—would you mind ...?"
"Oh, I'll fill it right away for you, Aunt Marjie!"