All these things were against Stanley, and he felt that if he did not make it quite clear that he was there he would soon not know where he was.

“I came,” he said, “to talk about this business up at Malloring’s.”  And, encouraged by having begun, he added:  “Whose kids were those?”

A level voice with a faint lisp answered him: 

“They belong to a man called Tryst; he was turned out of his cottage on Wednesday because his dead wife’s sister was staying with him, so we’ve taken them in.  Did you notice the look on the face of the eldest?”

Stanley nodded.  In truth, he had noticed something, though what he could not have said.

“At nine years old she has to do the housework and be a mother to the other two, besides going to school.  This is all because Lady Malloring has conscientious scruples about marriage with a deceased wife’s sister.”

‘Certainly’—­thought Stanley—­’that does sound a bit thick!’ And he asked: 

“Is the woman here, too?”

“No, she’s gone home for the present.”

He felt relief.

“I suppose Malloring’s point is,” he said, “whether or not you’re to do what you like with your own property.  For instance, if you had let this cottage to some one you thought was harming the neighborhood, wouldn’t you terminate his tenancy?”

She answered, still in that level voice: 

“Her action is cowardly, narrow, and tyrannical, and no amount of sophistry will make me think differently.”

Stanley felt precisely as if one of his feet had gone through the ice into water so cold that it seemed burning hot!  Sophistry!  In a plain man like himself!  He had always connected the word with Felix.  He looked at her, realizing suddenly that the association of his brother’s family with the outrage on Malloring’s estate was probably even nearer than he had feared.

“Look here, Kirsteen!” he said, uttering the unlikely name with resolution, for, after all, she was his sister-in-law:  “Did this fellow set fire to Malloring’s ricks?”

He was aware of a queer flash, a quiver, a something all over her face, which passed at once back to its intent gravity.

“We have no reason to suppose so.  But tyranny produces revenge, as you know.”

Stanley shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s not my business to go into the rights and wrongs of what’s been done.  But, as a man of the world and a relative, I do ask you to look after your youngsters and see they don’t get into a mess.  They’re an inflammable young couple—­young blood, you know!”

Having made this speech, Stanley looked down, with a feeling that it would give her more chance.

“You are very kind,” he heard her saying in that quiet, faintly lisping voice; “but there are certain principles involved.”

And, suddenly, his curious fear of this woman took shape.  Principles!  He had unconsciously been waiting for that word, than which none was more like a red rag to him.