"Stop," said the Doctor. "We are not going to discuss Polly. She behaved badly, I grant. But I think, Maria, when you locked her up in her room, and forbade Helen to go to her, and treated her without a spark of affection or a vestige of sympathy; when you kept up this line of conduct for four long days, you yourself in God's sight were not blameless. You at least forgot that you, too, were once fourteen, or perhaps you never were; no, I am sure you never were what that child is with all her faults--noble." "That is enough, Andrew, we will, as you say, not discuss Polly further. I leave by the first train that can take me away in the morning. You are a very much mistaking and ill-judging man; you were never worthy to be Helen's husband, and I bitterly grieve that her children must be brought up by you. For Helen's sake alone, I must now give you one parting piece of advice, it is this: When Miss Grinsted comes, treat her with kindness and consideration. Keep Miss Grinsted in this house at all hazards, and there may be a chance for your family." "Miss Grinsted!" said the Doctor. "Who, and what do you mean?" "Andrew, when I introduce you to such a lady I heap coals of fire on your head. Miss Grinsted alone can bring order out of chaos, peace out of strife. In short, when she is established here, I shall feel at rest as far as my dear sister's memory is concerned." "Miss Grinsted is not going to be established in this house," said the Doctor. "But who is she? I never heard of her before." "She is the lady-housekeeper and governess whom I have selected for you. She arrives at mid-day to-morrow." "From where?" "How queerly you look at me, Andrew. Nobody would suppose you were just delivered from a load of household care and confusion. Such a treasure, too, the best of disciplinarians. She is fifty, a little angular, but capital at breaking in. What is the matter, Andrew?" "What is Miss Grinsted's address?" "Well, well; really your manners are bearish. She is staying with an invalid sister at Exeter at present." "Will you oblige me with the street and number of the house?" "Certainly; but she can scarcely get here before mid-day now. Her trains are all arranged." "The name of the street and number of the house, if you please, Maria." "Vere Street, No. 30. But she can't be here before twelve or one to-morrow, Andrew." "She is never to come here. I shall go into the village the first thing in the morning, and send her a telegram. She is never to come here. Maria, you made a mistake, you went too far. If you and I are to speak to each other in the future, don't let it occur again. Good-night; I will see that you are called in good time in the morning."