On the previous day, uneasy ancient feuds were swelling up in their pods of silence. Now they suddenly burst from tight enclosure, and were very definitely present and visible. Bitter words had been spoken; accusations flung from one member of the family to another. They were repeated, and rolled round, within limits of the walls of the house--loyalty would not suffer any outlet to beyond--and rolled back again to their owners. It seemed impossible that so much grievance and anger had lain stagnant until Hal’s lapse from the average had sanctioned everybody’s lapse. Had Mr. Maxwell really been brooding for years on Florrie’s criminal carelessness in letting Ronnie die? Had Florrie Maxwell from the very beginning hated and distrusted and been jealous of her friend, Lavinia? Was all Aunt Lavvy’s sweetness and affection for the family hitherto, a mere disguise for her malignant stubborn will, that cared not how she wrecked them all to keep her white reputation at the bank from the faintest suggestion of grubbiness? And Hal--had he never been the splendid Hal, the traditional eldest son, the athletic hero of his almost first-class public-school? And if Mr. Maxwell had resented having the Watsons in the house, and did not consider Stanley as one of the family, why had he waited until now to say so? And _whose_ territory was the schoolroom-nursery?... The politeness of Miss Roberts and Nurse had become an Awful Politeness; Nurse was an indignant ally on the side of Hal, her first male nursling; and Miss Roberts, flattered by Gracie’s confidences, and thoroughly sympathizing with the Watson point of view, followed their lead of strict impartiality and constant references to the probable state of mind of the bank-clerk, and the injury done to Miss Lavvy, who had always been so kind. There was no room for all the currents and cross-currents and complications of feeling. They were jostled and bruised together; rebounded, reeling, from one contact, only to bump up against another. There was only just room at the Laburnums for everyday harmony to fit itself in, with no fraction of margin where emergency emotions might expand at ease ... they were learning that at last. The first big out-of-the-ordinary upset showed them how they were cramped. Perpetually banging doors jarred a dozen headaches, as those who sought an empty room or one special person in the room, irritably vented their disappointment at an unexpected encounter with the wrong occupant. Snatches of irrelevant quarrel drifted about. Crashing voices were overheard, and those who did not shout, whispered and rustled and cast meaning looks. Alliances were suddenly formed that were a surprise even to themselves, and the old unassailable partnerships of ten and twelve years had come unglued. And that rough intruder, Passion, was the unseen tenant at the Laburnums.