Alone—­saving and excepting Dr. Cripps—­did the Miss Minetts fail to put in an appearance.  This of necessity, since had not they, figuratively speaking, warmed the viper in their bosoms, cradled the assassin upon their hearth?  They were further handicapped, in respect of any demonstration, by the fact of Theresa Bilson’s presence in their midst.  Owing to the general combustion, Miss Felicia and the Peace Angel’s joint mission had gone by the wall.  Theresa was still an exile from The Hard, and doomed to remain so as the event proved.  With that remarkable power—­not uncommon in her sex—­of transmuting fact, granted the healing hand of time, from defeat to personal advantage, she had converted her repulse by Sir Charles Verity into a legend of quite flattering quality.  She had left The Hard because—­But—­

“She must not be asked to give chapter and verse.  The position had been extremely delicate.  Even now she could barely speak of it—­she had gone through too much.  To be more explicit”—­she bridled—­“would trench upon the immodest, almost.  But just this she could say—­she withdrew from The Hard three years ago, because she saw withdrawal would be best for others.  Their peace of mind had been her object.”

The above guarded confidences the Miss Minetts, hanging upon her lips, received with devout admiration and fully believed.  And, the best of it was, Theresa had come by now, thanks to frequent rehearsal, fully to believe this version herself.  At the present juncture it had its convenience, since she could declare her allegiance to her former employer unimpaired.  Thereby was she at liberty to join in the local condemnation of Reginald Sawyer and his sermon.  She did so with an assumption of elegant, if slightly hysterical, omniscience.  This was not without its practical side.  She regretted her inability to meet him at meals.  In consequence the Miss Minetts proposed he should be served in his own sitting-room, until such time as it suited him to find another place of residence than the Grey House.  For their allegiance went on all fours with Theresa’s.  It was also unimpaired.  Propriety had been outraged on every hand; matters, heretofore deemed unmentionable, rushed into the forefront of knowledge and conversation; yet never had they actually enjoyed themselves so greatly.  The sense of being a storm centre—­inasmuch as they harboured the viper assassin—­produced in them an unexampled militancy.  Latent sex-antagonism revealed itself.  The man, by common consent was down; and, being down, the Miss Minetts jumped on him, pounded him, if terms so vulgar are permissible in respect for ladies so refined.  For every sin of omission, committed against their womanhood by the members of his sex, they made him scapegoat—­unconsciously it is true, but effectively none the less.  From being his slaves they became his tormentors.  Never was young fellow more taken aback.  Such revulsions of human feeling are instructive—­deplorable or diverting according as you view it.