They went on accordingly, but Alice found an opportunity to whisper a few words in her mother’s ear as they were crossing the inner hall, where was the staircase and also a great black stove, that made warmth in winter-time. ‘Mother, I don’t like it,’ whispered Alice with indignation, ‘he hadn’t ought to talk so of his wife when she is dead.’ ‘He don’t mean no harm,’ whispered Mrs Robson back, being much more disposed to be merciful. ‘But it’s not right,’ pronounced Alice, in the tone of final decision in which an irrevocable condemnation is proclaimed. For the precise Alice had enough warmth within her to become indignant for another woman’s sake; and as an only daughter of doting parents she was allowed to own such opinions as she pleased. And now they all stood together in the ‘old kitchen,’ into which fell the slanting evening light, the room chosen by Tina for her sitting-room, in preference to the smarter parlour of the house. It had once indeed been a kitchen, as was made evident by the great kitchen fireplace and mantelpiece, all of sombre black, a circumstance which added to the quaintness of the apartment, which had been used as a living-room by the family before their lodgers came. The walls were covered with a sober-coloured paper, representing various scenes in farming life--stables, men ploughing, hay-making, and harvest-time, each scene in a little frame of trellis-work. To add to their effect the skirting of wood, the beam which divided the ceiling, the cupboards on each side of the fireplace, the doors and window-seat were all alike of a deep, dull green, which allowed the paper the advantage of such brightness as it had. The floor was covered with matting, and a long table with a cheap and brilliant table-cloth went down the room; against the furthest wall was the little pianoforte which had been hired for Tina, and the low basket-chair in which she was accustomed to recline. A big, pleasant room, which with a little trouble might have been made into an apartment sufficiently comfortable.