For a moment Mrs. Failing was annoyed. “Unkind? I do not see that at all. I believe in looking facts in the face. Rickie must know his ghosts some time. Why not this afternoon?” She rose with quiet dignity, but her tears came faster. “That is not so. You told him to hurt him. I cannot think what you did it for. I suppose because he was rude to you after church. It is a mean, cowardly revenge. “What—what if it’s a lie?” “Then, Mrs. Failing, it is sickening of you. There is no other word. Sickening. I am sorry—a nobody like myself—to speak like this. How _could_ you, oh, how could you demean yourself? Why, not even a poor person—” Her indignation was fine and genuine. But her tears fell no longer. Nothing menaced her if they were not really brothers. “It is not a lie, my dear; sit down. I will swear so much solemnly. It is not a lie, but—” Agnes waited. “—we can call it a lie if we choose.” “I am not so childish. You have said it, and we must all suffer. You have had your fun: I conclude you did it for fun. You cannot go back. He—” She pointed towards the stables, and could not finish her sentence. “I have not been a fool twice.” Agnes did not understand. “My dense lady, can’t you follow? I have not told Stephen one single word, neither before nor now.” There was a long silence. Indeed, Mrs. Failing was in an awkward position. Rickie had irritated her, and, in her desire to shock him, she had imperilled her own peace. She had felt so unconventional upon the hillside, when she loosed the horror against him; but now it was darting at her as well. Suppose the scandal came out. Stephen, who was absolutely without delicacy, would tell it to the people as soon as tell them the time. His paganism would be too assertive; it might even be in bad taste. After all, she had a prominent position in the neighbourhood; she was talked about, respected, looked up to. After all, she was growing old. And therefore, though she had no true regard for Rickie, nor for Agnes, nor for Stephen, nor for Stephen’s parents, in whose tragedy she had assisted, yet she did feel that if the scandal revived it would disturb the harmony of Cadover, and therefore tried to retrace her steps. It is easy to say shocking things: it is so different to be connected with anything shocking. Life and death were not involved, but comfort and discomfort were. The silence was broken by the sound of feet on the gravel. Agnes said hastily, “Is that really true—that he knows nothing?” “You, Rickie, and I are the only people alive that know. He realizes what he is—with a precision that is sometimes alarming. Who he is, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. I suppose he would know when I’m dead. There are papers.” “Aunt Emily, before he comes, may I say to you I’m sorry I was so rude?” Mrs. Failing had not disliked her courage. “My dear, you may. We’re all off our hinges this Sunday. Sit down by me again.”