With these words he went down the steps, and Annette watched him angrily. For a moment or two she considered his advice to “go to her grandmother”; then suddenly, with a passionate motion of her head, she lifted the knocker and let it fall several times with unmistakable decision. Sappha, who was busy in the back parlour, ran hastily into the hall, and when she saw Annette advanced to meet her with a lifted finger and a “hush!” upon her lips. “Mother has had such a bad night,” she said softly, “and now she is sleeping. Come in here, Annette, as quietly as possible. What is the matter? I hope Jonaca is well. Why, Annette, you are crying!” “Yes, and it is you who ought to be crying! Yet you appear perfectly unconcerned.” “But why ought I to be crying? You know mother has had these headaches all her life. This attack is no worse than usual.” “_Mother! Mother!_ I am not thinking of your mother! I am thinking of Leonard Murray.” “Is anything wrong with Leonard?” “I do not know what you call wrong. The whole city considers him shamefully wrong! No one will speak to him! He is disgraced beyond everything! I am ashamed, I am burning with anger, to think that he might have been through you connected with my family--I mean the De Vries family. And I am distracted about Achille. He came to Achille on Sunday night--” “Who came to Achille?” “Leonard Murray, of course. And he almost cried about the way people had insulted him--coming out of church, too. And, I suppose, indeed, I am sure, that Achille promised to help him, and stand by him, and fight that man Gilson for him----” “Stop, Annette! You are not speaking the truth now. You are, at least, under a false impression. If Gilson is to be fought, Leonard will fight him. Make no mistake about that. Leonard is no coward; and a man need not be foolhardy to prove himself brave--only cowards are afraid to be called cowards. My father has said that very often.” “And pray what comes of such ideas? When a man is insulted they lead to nothing. I have just been talking to my uncle Gerardus, and he thinks precisely as I do. To let a man go up and down calling you a thief and a coward, and say nothing, and do nothing, is neither moral nor respectable. That is Leonard Murray’s position. And I think it a shame that I have to be kept on the rack for two days about your lover. I never troubled you about Achille; and I am not well, and when I am sick then dear little Jonaca is sick--and I have had to get up this morning hours before the proper time and leave my house, and my child about your lover, just because he cannot manage his own troubles; troubles, also, that he has made for himself.” “You do not know what you are saying, Annette. Your temper carries you beyond truth. Leonard did not make this trouble----” “Oh, yes, he did. His pride and self-conceit are intolerable. His patronage of people is offensive. And Achille and I have often noticed how purse-proud he was----”