Mr. Charles did gape, there is no doubt. He was filled with the profoundest consternation. In all his experience, such a thing had never happened before. He did not understand the kind of creature thus sobbing, raging, insulting everybody around her. He made a gulp to swallow down his amazement, and waved his hand to the assembled servants. “Go away, go away,” he said. “Whisht--never mind--go away like good creatures, like kind creatures. You see it’s a mistake, and you’re not wanted. Mrs. Simpson, my good woman, there’s no need for your feathers and your salts. Take them all away. There’s nothing wanted--nothing wanted,” Mr. Charles repeated, closing the door upon the assistants. It was rather terrible to confront the heroine of the scene himself; but he had all a Scotchman’s terror of “exposure,” and shame of excitement, and loud voices. At this moment, too, when the family was in such trouble! Mr. Charles looked pale and limp as he closed the door behind him, and faced, trembling, the clamouring newcomer, who made such claims upon him. He kept his eye upon her, as he might have done upon some unknown wild animal. And he cast a pitiful glance at Verna, who sat dumb in his own particular corner--a fact which he did not omit to note--working, as Mr. Charles described it afterwards, “at some ridiculous woman’s work or other, and paying no more attention than if it was not her concern.” “Whisht, whisht!” said Mr. Charles; “don’t cry! It cannot be so bad as you think. If anybody has done anything to disturb you, of course we’ll put it all right--we’ll put it all right; don’t cry. Tell me what’s happened, and no doubt we’ll be able to put it all right.” “Oh! how can you ask me what’s happened--everything’s happened!” cried Matilda. “There is not a servant in the house that does not insult us. They say disagreeable things to Elvin; they hate the poor Ayah, though I don’t mind that so much, for I want an opportunity to send her away. I am sure they pinch poor Tommy when they have a chance, for the child’s arms are black and blue. And as for me!” cried Matilda, rising into renewed excitement; “it’s all because they think we’re interlopers, and because the other Heriots, the old family, have gone and twisted their minds. They think no more of me than if I was the dust below the feet of that Marjory. Marjory, indeed! an old maid, as that old witch said, that never had any right to be mistress--that was never anything but the old gentleman’s daughter--” “Hem--ahem!” Mr. Charles made a great sound of coughing; it was the only thing he could do to drown all this, and to keep himself from getting angry. (“I was very near getting into a passion,” he said afterwards; “I was very near speaking sharp, as I would have been sorry to have spoken.”) To prevent this, he coughed so much that Matilda’s voice was drowned, and his own angry feelings cooled down.