"What is the name of the person you go to see at Baxter's Houses, Mrs. Dorriman?"
The poor woman coloured and looked nervously at her brother as she answered:
"An old servant of mine, if you wish to know."
Her colour and her nervousness gave Grace a sort of inkling that something more lay behind, so she said with a laugh:
"You must be much attached to her as you seem to go and see her every second day."
Poor Mrs. Dorriman was ready to cry at the suddenness of the attack. She answered something in a low voice which was heard by no one—but she required no defence. Mr. Sandford, usually absorbed in his dinner and taking small share in the conversation, looked up keenly as Grace put the question, and when she asserted the visits were of such frequent recurrence he received a certain shock. An old servant—who was she? But he was not going to have his sister bullied by any one but himself, and he thundered out with an emphatic slap upon the table:
"What business is it of yours, I should like to know, who my sister visits or does not? I consider it very impertinent and uncalled-for your speaking in that way to her; and I blame you," he said turning to his sister, "for letting her get the upper hand; you should keep her down, you should keep her in her place."
Grace rose, white with anger. Margaret trembling rose also.
"Sit down, both of ye," he said, in a tone which awed them both, and they sat down. When they eventually left the room Grace went to her bedroom and Margaret followed to console her.
But the consolation was not so great because Margaret, while grieving for her being wounded, could not think her in the right, and was much too honest to say so; and to her sister no consolation could come unless she was entirely placed in the position of an injured martyr.