"Time enough? No, it's not time enough for me, Silla. I must try and get it said now."
"And what will happen to me at home afterwards? And you're not dressed for it either, this evening."
"Oh, don't be afraid, Mr. Nikolai. I may as well see with my own eyes how highly my daughter condescends to respect her mother who is left a poor defenceless widow."
It was Mrs. Holman's own voice; she was standing in the gateway, looking preternaturally large.
"I thought I had gone through the worst that could be, when Holman died, and that I should be spared the pain of catching my own flesh and blood out, without leave, in conversation in the street, in the middle of the snow. Neither should I have thought that that person would ever presume to come so near my house. Just you come in with me, Silla. Come in, do you hear—at once!"
If any one could have gathered up the component parts of Mrs. Holman's last screaming treble, he would have found a wealth of emotions: injured motherly dignity, wrath, contempt, hatred, and something heavy, which was meant to have a crushing effect, and really did almost make Silla fall on her knees; she stood there without moving.
Nikolai had become a little hardened, however, since the old days; he knew now that there were others of whom he was more afraid than he was of Mrs. Holman. He was not affected by her.
"I must ask to be allowed to come in, however, ma'am, for I didn't come here this evening to stand out in the snow. It is to you yourself I want to speak."
"Perhaps it's no longer than can be said here where we stand," answered Mrs. Holman, rudely. "Come here, Silla!"
"Oh no, it's not very long; but then I must explain one or two things that belong to it."