The old disorder was re-established, on account of trouble with Mrs. Hansen.
Minnie came into his little room one morning, frowning.
“Chris,” she said. “You’ll have to tell that woman to go at once!”
“Who, my dear?”
“You know very well! That Hansen woman! This time she’s surpassed herself. I never heard of such impudence. Never! There she was, the old—creature—snooping round in Alec’s room. Snooping!”
Now Mr. Petersen had long been aware of this sole failing in an otherwise classically lofty character. He knew that Mrs. Hansen snooped. But, having no secrets, her snooping hadn’t particularly disturbed him. He realised, too, that for one of Minnie’s secretive nature, snooping must seem a crime; he knew by this time that she had plenty of things to hide, queer little magpie stores, money she imagined she was saving, clothes she had ruined in the making, bills she didn’t wish seen. He thought it rather humorous.
“That’s too bad,” he said, soothingly. “Still—perhaps if you speak to her——”
“Indeed I shan’t. You engaged her and you can get rid of her. I will not have her in the house. Poking her nose into everyone’s affairs. She’s got to go at once!”
She heard the baby crying and turned to go.
“I never did trust that woman,” she said, turning back at the door. “I always felt there was something queer when we missed all that food last autumn.”