Neither spoke.  Mrs Tresize stood by the table, and so that, glancing sideways across her left shoulder, her eyes studied the doctor’s back, which he kept obstinately turned upon her.  He had put up a hand to the chimney-shelf and leaned forward with his gaze bent on the embers.

‘Doctor?’

‘Ma’am?’ after a long pause.

‘Do you really reckon smuggling so very sinful?’

‘It is not a question of smuggling, ma’am.’

‘Oh, yes, it is!’ she insisted.  ’Once you get mixed up in that business you have to deceive at times—­if ’tis only to protect others.’

‘I can understand, ma’am,’ said the doctor, after another pause, ’that to dabble in smuggling is to court many awkward situations.  You need not remind me of that, who am fresh from misleading that young man.  It was—­if you will pardon my saying so—­by reason of his trust in my good faith that you escaped cross-questioning.’

’I’ll grant that, and with all my heart.  But, since deceiving him goes so hard against the grain with you, he shall know the truth to-morrow, when he comes to apologise.  Will that content you?’

‘It will be some atonement, ma’am.  As for contenting me—­’

’You mean that I have given you a shock?  And that to recover your esteem will not be easy?’

She asked it with a small, pathetic sigh, and took a step towards the fireplace, as if to entreat his pardon.  But before he could be aware of this his attention was claimed by a sound without.  The latch of the back door was lifted with a click, and, almost before he could face about, steps were heard in the passage.  The door of the best kitchen opened a foot or so, and through the aperture was thrust the head of Tryphena—­of Tryphena, who by rights should be lying upstairs, victim of a colic.

‘Missus!’ announced Tryphena, in a hoarse whisper.  ’The kegs be stowed all right in the orchet—­all the four dozen.  But here’s Butcher Truman, teasy as fire.  Says he’s been robbed o’ fifty pounds on the way an’ can’t pay the carriers!  An’ the carriers be tappin’ the stuff an’ drinkin’ what’s left, an’ neither to hold nor to bind but threat’nin’ to cut the inside of en out—­an’ he’s here, if you plaze, to know if so be you could lend a few pounds to satisfy ’em.  I told en—­’

‘Show him in,’ commanded Mrs Tresize, with a creditable hold on her voice; for, to tell the truth, she was half hysterical.

Tryphena withdrew, and pushed the strangest of figures through the doorway.  Butcher Truman had discarded the shawl from his head and shoulders, or perchance it had been snatched away by the infuriated carriers.  For expedition, too, he had caught up his feminine skirt and petticoat and twisted them and caught them about his waist with a leathern belt, over which they hung in careless indecorous festoons, draping a pair of corduroy breeches.  But he still wore a woman’s bodice, though half the buttons were burst; and a sun-bonnet, with strings still knotted about his throat, dangled at the back of his shoulders like a hood.  He was a full-blooded man, slightly obese, with a villainous pair of eyes that blinked in the sudden lamp-light.  He was dangerous, too, between anger and terror.  But Mrs Tresize gave him no time.