Jerry and Carl had been whooping and sliding down the banisters as she came through the hall.  They did not see her and continued whooping and sliding, and Mrs. Davis was convinced they did it on purpose.  Faith’s pet rooster ambled through the hall, stood in the parlour doorway and looked at her.  Not liking her looks, he did not venture in.  Mrs. Davis gave a scornful sniff.  A pretty manse, indeed, where roosters paraded the halls and stared people out of countenance.

“Shoo, there,” commanded Mrs. Davis, poking her flounced, changeable-silk parasol at him.

Adam shooed.  He was a wise rooster and Mrs. Davis had wrung the necks of so many roosters with her own fair hands in the course of her fifty years that an air of the executioner seemed to hang around her.  Adam scuttled through the hall as the minister came in.

Mr. Meredith still wore slippers and dressing gown, and his dark hair still fell in uncared-for locks over his high brow.  But he looked the gentleman he was; and Mrs. Alec Davis, in her silk dress and beplumed bonnet, and kid gloves and gold chain looked the vulgar, coarse-souled woman she was.  Each felt the antagonisn of the other’s personality.  Mr. Meredith shrank, but Mrs. Davis girded up her loins for the fray.  She had come to the manse to propose a certain thing to the minister and she meant to lose no time in proposing it.  She was going to do him a favour—­ a great favour—­and the sooner he was made aware of it the better.  She had been thinking about it all summer and had come to a decision at last.  This was all that mattered, Mrs. Davis thought.  When she decided a thing it was decided.  Nobody else had any say in the matter.  That had always been her attitude.  When she had made her mind up to marry Alec Davis she had married him and that was the end to it.  Alec had never known how it happened, but what odds?  So in this case—­Mrs. Davis had arranged everything to her own satisfaction.  Now it only remained to inform Mr. Meredith.

“Will you please shut that door?” said Mrs. Davis, unprimming her mouth slightly to say it, but speaking with asperity.  “I have something important to say, and I can’t say it with that racket in the hall.”

Mr. Meredith shut the door meekly.  Then he sat down before Mrs. Davis.  He was not wholly aware of her yet.  His mind was still wrestling with Ewald’s arguments.  Mrs. Davis sensed this detachment and it annoyed her.

“I have come to tell you, Mr. Meredith,” she said aggressively, “that I have decided to adopt Una.”

“To—­adopt—­Una!” Mr. Meredith gazed at her blankly, not understanding in the least.