Foam flew from Letitia’s lips. In her excitement she began to cry--hot tears of rage gathering in her eyes, and a spasm in her throat breaking the words. She sat down in the chair which Mary had so hurriedly vacated, overcome by passion, but carrying on her angry protest with mingled sobs and threats only half articulate. Poor Mary could not stand against the storm. A cold shiver of alarm lest this might turn out to be true, mingled with the shiver of her cold, which answered to the draughts from the window. Hunted out of her warm corner by the fire, exposed to the chill, her heart sinking, her cough coming on, there is no telling to what depth of dejection poor Mary might have fallen. She was saved for the moment at least by the rush at the door of her mother and sister, who, after a pause of wonder and many consultations, had at last decided that it was their duty to be present to support Mary--however grand and exalted her visitors might be. They came in one after the other a little awed but eager, not knowing what to expect. But they both in the same moment recognized Letitia and rushed toward her with open arms and a cry of “Oh, Tisch!” in the full intention of embracing and rejoicing over such an old friend. “Why didn’t you send for me, Mary?” cried Mrs. Hill. “I thought it was some grand stranger, and it’s Tisch, our dear old Tisch! What a pleasure to see you here again, my dear!” Mrs. Parke put on a visage of stone. She could not avoid the touch of the mistress of the house who seized upon her hand with friendly eagerness, but she drew back from the kiss which was about to follow, and ignored Agnes altogether with a stony gaze. “I’m sorry I can’t meet you in the old way,” she said. “I was a child then and everything’s changed now. We have come here upon business, and unpleasant business too. I’m glad to see you, however, for you will have sense enough to know what I mean.” “Sense enough to know what she means!” cried the vicar’s wife. “I am sure I don’t know what that means to begin with, Tisch Ravelstone! You were never so wonderfully clever that it wanted sense to understand you--so far as I know.” “I am the Honorable Mrs. Parke and this is Lady Frogmore,” said Letitia with angry dignity. “Now perhaps you understand.” “Not in the least, unless it’s congratulations you mean, and that sort of thing; but you do not look much like congratulators,” said Mrs. Hill. She drew a chair to the table and sat down and confronted the visitors firmly. “It looks as if you did not like the match,” she said. “The match--shall never be,” said Lady Frogmore, in that voice which proceeded out of her boots, waving her arm, which was made majestic by the lace and jet of her cloak. “It shall never be!” cried Letitia. “Never! My husband has already taken steps----” “My son--has taken steps--the family will not allow it. They will never allow it.”