Red with apprehension, Constance wondered what would happen.  Mrs. Baines said nought of her feelings, did not even indicate that she had seen the scandalous, the breath-taking sight.  And they descended the Square laden with the lighter portions of what they had bought during an hour of buying.  They went into the house by the King Street door; and the first thing they heard was the sound of the piano upstairs.  Nothing happened.  Mr. Povey had his dinner alone; then the table was laid for them, and the bell rung, and Sophia came insolently downstairs to join her mother and sister.  And nothing happened.  The dinner was silently eaten, and Constance having rendered thanks to God, Sophia rose abruptly to go.

“Sophia!”

“Yes, mother.”

“Constance, stay where you are,” said Mrs. Baines suddenly to Constance, who had meant to flee.  Constance was therefore destined to be present at the happening, doubtless in order to emphasize its importance and seriousness.

“Sophia,” Mrs. Baines resumed to her younger daughter in an ominous voice.  “No, please shut the door.  There is no reason why everybody in the house should hear.  Come right into the room—­ right in!  That’s it.  Now, what were you doing out in the town this morning?”

Sophia was fidgeting nervously with the edge of her little black apron, and worrying a seam of the carpet with her toes.  She bent her head towards her left shoulder, at first smiling vaguely.  She said nothing, but every limb, every glance, every curve, was speaking.  Mrs. Baines sat firmly in her own rocking-chair, full of the sensation that she had Sophia, as it were, writhing on the end of a skewer.  Constance was braced into a moveless anguish.

“I will have an answer,” pursued Mrs. Baines.  “What were you doing out in the town this morning?”

“I just went out,” answered Sophia at length, still with eyes downcast, and in a rather simpering tone.

“Why did you go out?  You said nothing to me about going out.  I heard Constance ask you if you were coming with us to the market, and you said, very rudely, that you weren’t.”

“I didn’t say it rudely,” Sophia objected.

“Yes you did.  And I’ll thank you not to answer back.”

“I didn’t mean to say it rudely, did I, Constance?” Sophia’s head turned sharply to her sister.  Constance knew not where to look.

“Don’t answer back,” Mrs. Baines repeated sternly.  “And don’t try to drag Constance into this, for I won’t have it.”

“Oh, of course Constance is always right!” observed Sophia, with an irony whose unparalleled impudence shook Mrs. Baines to her massive foundations.

“Do you want me to have to smack you, child?”

Her temper flashed out and you could see ringlets vibrating under the provocation of Sophia’s sauciness.  Then Sophia’s lower lip began to fall and to bulge outwards, and all the muscles of her face seemed to slacken.