At this point John Heron's ring and knock were heard at the door; with
a cry of terror, the unfortunate mother succeeded in dragging the
feebly struggling Joseph out of the room, and with Isabel's assistance,
hustled and pushed him up the stairs before his father was let in.
After a time Mrs. Heron came down again, and Ida heard her and her
husband talking together--you couldn't whisper in one room of Laburnum
Villa without being heard in another one--and presently the
drawing-room door opened and John Heron entered; Ida had waited, for
she had expected him. He was red and swollen with pomposity and
resentment, though he assumed a "more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger" air, and
threw a deeply grieved tone into his harsh, raucous voice.

"I am deeply grieved and shocked, Ida," he began, "to hear from your
cousin so deplorable an account of your conduct. I am not so unwise as
to look for gratitude in this world, but I did not think you would
repay our kindness and consideration by attempting to wreck the
happiness of a quiet and godly home. Of course, I make all allowances
for your bringing-up; I am aware that in the state of life from which
we rescued you, the spiritual and the religious were entirely absent;
but I had hopes that our precept and, I may say, example, the influence
of a deeply religious family--" by this time his voice had slid into
the nasal whine and growl which it assumed in the pulpit; and Ida,
notwithstanding her wretchedness, again felt an almost irresistible
desire to laugh.