Lucy sprang up in terror. There on the steps stood her father, bigger, blacker, more formidable than he had ever been in the eyes of the two startled girls. All unknown to them, the two doors which parted them from the shop had been slightly ajar, and Purcell, catching their voices as they came in, and already on the watch for his daughter, had maintained a treacherous quiet behind them. Now he was entirely in his element. He surveyed them both with a dark, contemptuous triumph. What fools women were to be sure! As he descended the two steps into the parlour the floor shook under his heavy tread. Dora had instinctively thrown her arm round Lucy, who had begun to cry hysterically. She herself was very pale, but after the first start she looked her uncle in the face. 'Is it you that's been teaching Lucy these _beautiful_ sentiments?' said Purcell, with ironical emphasis, stopping a yard from them and pointing at Dora, 'and do you get 'em from St. Damian's?' Dora threw up her head, and flushed. 'I get nothing from St. Damian's that I'm ashamed of,' she said in a proud voice, 'and I've done nothing with Lucy that I'm ashamed of.' 'No, I suppose not,' said Purcell dryly; 'the devil don't deal much in shame. It's a losing article.' Then he looked at Lucy, and his expression suddenly changed. The flame beneath leapt to sight. He caught her arm, dragged her out of Dora's hold, and shook her as one might shake a kitten. 'Who were you talking of just now?' he said to her, holding her by both shoulders, his eyes blazing down upon her. Lucy was much too frightened to speak. She stood staring back at him, her breast heaving violently. Dora came forward in indignation. 'You'll get nothing out of her if you treat her like that,' she said, with spirit, 'nor out of me either.' Purcell recovered himself with difficulty. He let Lucy go, and walking up to the mantelpiece stood there, leaning his arm upon it, and looking at the girls from under his hand. 'What do I want to get out of you?' he said, with scorn. 'As if I didn't know already everything that's in your silly minds! I guessed already, and now that you have been so obliging as to let your secrets out under my very nose--I _know!_ That chit there'--he pointed to Lucy--all his gestures had a certain theatrical force and exaggeration, springing, perhaps, from his habit of lay preaching--'imagines she going to marry the young infidel I gave the sack to a while ago. Now don't she? Are you going to say no to that?' His loud challenge pushed Dora to extremities, and it was all left to her. Lucy was sobbing on the sofa. 'I don't know what she imagines,' said Dora, slowly, seeking in vain for words; the whole situation was so ridiculous. 'Are you going to prevent her falling in love with the man she chooses?'