There was one brief, tense interval of silence before old Jervaise began to speak. We all waited for him to state the case; Frank because he meant to reserve himself for the dramatic moment; we others because we preferred to throw the onus of statement upon him. (I do believe that throughout that interview it is fair to speak of "we others," of the whole six of us, almost as of a single mind with a single intention. We played our individual parts in our own manners, but we were subject to a single will which was, I firmly believe, the will of Mrs. Banks. Even her husband followed her lead, if he did it with reluctance, while the rest of us obeyed her with delight.) Old Jervaise fumbled his opening. He looked pale and tired, as if he would be glad to be out of it. "We have called," he began, striving for an effect of magisterial gravity; "we have come here, Mrs. Banks, to fetch my daughter. I understand that you've been away from home--you and your husband--and you're probably not aware of what has taken--has been going on in your absence." "Oh! yes, we know," Mrs. Banks put in disconcertingly. She was sitting erect and contemptuous in her chair at the foot of the table. For one moment something in her pose reminded me of Queen Victoria. "Indeed? You have heard; since your return?" faltered old Jervaise. "But I cannot suppose for one moment that either you or your husband approve of--of your son's gross misbehaviour." He got out the accusation with an effort; he had to justify himself before his son. But the slight stoop of his shoulders, and his hesitating glances at Mrs. Banks were propitiatory, almost apologetic. It seemed to me that he pleaded with her to realise that he could say and do no less than what he was saying and doing; to understand and to spare him. "But that is new to me," Mrs. Banks replied. "I have heard nothing of any gross misbehaviour." She was so clearly mistress of the situation that I might have been sorry for old Jervaise, if it had not been for the presence of that scowling fool by the door. "I--I'm afraid I can describe your son's conduct as--as nothing less than gross misbehaviour," the old man stammered, "having consideration to his employment. But, perhaps, you have not been properly informed of the--of the offence." "Is it an offence to love unwisely, Mr. Jervaise?" Mrs. Banks shot at him with a sudden ferocity. He blustered feebly. "You _must_ see how impossible it is for your son to dream of marrying my daughter," he said. The blood had mounted to his face; and he looked as if he longed to get up and walk out. I wondered vaguely whether Frank had had that eventuality in mind when he blockaded the door with his own gloomy person.