While somewhat perfunctorily holding the fork to the fire, Matthew glared about him, to signify his righteous horror, and other sentiments.

“Please don’t burn it,” said Alice gently.  “Suppose you were to sit down on this foot-stool.”  And then she poured boiling water on the tea, put the lid on the pot, and looked at the clock to note the exact second at which the process of infusion had begun.

“Of course,” burst out Henry, the twin of Matthew, “I need not say, madam, that you have all our sympathies.  You are in a——­”

“Do you mean me?” Alice asked.

In an undertone Priam could be heard obstinately repeating, “Never set eyes upon her before!  Never set eyes on the woman before!”

“I do, madam,” said Henry, not to be cowed nor deflected from his course.  “I speak for all of us.  You have our sympathies.  You could not know the character of the man you married, or rather with whom you went through the ceremony of marriage.  However, we have heard, by inquiry, that you made his acquaintance through the medium of a matrimonial agency; and indirectly, when one does that sort of thing, one takes one’s chance.  Your position is an extremely delicate one; but it is not too much to say that you brought it on yourself.  In my work, I have encountered many sad instances of the result of lax moral principles; but I little thought to encounter the saddest of all in my own family.  The discovery is just as great a blow to us as it is to you.  We have suffered; my mother has suffered.  And now, I fear, it is your turn to suffer.  You are not this man’s wife.  Nothing can make you his wife.  You are living in the same house with him—­under circumstances—­er—­without a chaperon.  I hesitate to characterize your situation in plain words.  It would scarcely become me, or mine, to do so.  But really no lady could possibly find herself in a situation more false than—­I am afraid there is only one word, open immorality, and—­er—­to put yourself right with society there is one thing, and only one, left for you to—­er—­do.  I—­I speak for the family, and I—­”

“Sugar?” Alice questioned the mother of curates.

“Yes, please.”

“One lump, or two?”

“Two, please.”

“Speaking for the family—­” Henry resumed.

“Will you kindly pass this cup to your mother?” Alice suggested.

Henry was obliged to take the cup.  Excited by the fever of eloquence, he unfortunately upset it before it had reached his mother’s hands.

“Oh, Henry!” murmured the lady, mournfully aghast.  “You always were so clumsy!  And a clean cloth, too!”

“Don’t mention it, please,” said Alice, and then to her Henry:  “My dear, just run into the kitchen, and bring me something to wipe this up.  Hanging behind the door—­you’ll see.”

Priam sprang forward with astonishing celerity.  And the occasion brooking no delay, the guardian of the portal could not but let him pass.  In another moment the front door banged.  Priam did not return.  And Alice staunched the flow of tea with a clean, stiff serviette taken from the sideboard drawer.