Was it any wonder that Judith then lost her temper? For she had not flown out. The insinuation that she would do so was based on Sibyl's knowledge that she would have been perfectly justified in doing so. But now, she did lose her temper, subject to that disguise of self-command which tells for more than any outburst. "You are taking too much on yourself, Sibyl. Mamma knows. At least, she knows Alfred Challis and his wife. They have dined here, and we agreed--mamma and I--to know nothing about the deceased wife's sister business. It may even be false from beginning to end.... _Ask_ her, did you say? I should never dream of doing so.... And as for your other disgraceful--yes! disgraceful--speech just now...." "Well--it's true! You _had_ been, and you know you had." "Had been what?" "Acting Moorhouse and Aminta Dorrington." "That's not the way you put it. But I don't care about that. It's only your silliness and inexperience makes you say these things...." "What is it you do care about, then?" "I won't submit to be catechized, Sibyl. But I'll tell you. I do care about what the _madre_ thinks--and papa. And I shall tell _her_.... I wonder who that can be?" The "that" in question was a knock at the front door, one that expressed confidence that it was at the right house, and even that it would find someone at home--well-founded confidence in both cases. For the Miss Arkroyds, listening for the identity of the abnormal visitor--at ten o'clock in the morning!--only wait for a barely perceptible instalment of voice and footstep to exclaim jointly: "The Rector ... just fancy--what can he want?... In here, Elphinstone!" And it may be neither is sorry for the interruption. How very frequently a visitor is the resolution of a family discord! Judith, pale with suppressed anger, recovers her colour. Sibyl's flush of excitement dies. It is the Rector of Royd, no doubt of that! And something equivalent to a breeze of fresh air, or the tide in an estuary, or the new crackle of a clean pine-wood fire--but not exactly any one of the three--comes into the room with him and his laugh. He has an effect that is usual with him. The under-housemaid, who has passed him on to Mr. Elphinstone, hopes she won't have done dusting when he comes out. Mr. Elphinstone is seriously hurt at his having breakfasted three hours ago and now refusing food, which would have promoted their intercourse; and the young ladies are not sorry, on inquiry, to hear that her ladyship is not coming down, but will have her breakfast upstairs, because thereby they will have the Rev. Athelstan all to themselves longer. However, they chorus sorrow which they don't feel about their mother; and affect an equally hypocritical satisfaction at a probable appearance of their father, which they don't believe in.