"Yes, I am, and it's a very good thing to cry over. Think of all those poor people, working so hard, and--it's all for nothing, I suppose! And Arthur! How brave he was over it! He couldn't have been more--more attentive and--and gay if it had been the greatest success. But I knew what he was feeling. I laughed like a maniac--and my hands are sore. What's the use? Who's the idiot who wrote it?" "Well, if you come to that, I daresay the poor man is just as much upset as Arthur Lisle is." Judith was in no mood for impartial justice. "Getting them to produce a thing like that is almost obtaining money under false pretences. Why don't they _know_, Esther?" "I'm sure I don't know. It's easy enough to tell when you see it." "I was awfully frightened even when he told us about it." "At dinner, you mean? Yes, so was I. But it was no use saying----" "Oh, of course, it was no use saying anything about it! What will he do now? Will he get any of his money back, I wonder!" Judith might be seen through the gloom dabbing her cheeks forlornly. "And I did think it was going to be a jolly evening!" she ended. "It wasn't that," Esther observed with ample emphasis. Protected by the gloom, she drew nearer to Judith, put her arm round her, and kissed her. "You mustn't mind so much," she whispered. "Men have to take tumbles all the time, and Arthur took his bravely." "Oh, after the other thing it is such hard luck! And I--we--didn't know how to--to help or console him. I wish Bernadette had been there! She'd have known how to do that." Esther frowned at the idea of this very desperate remedy. A forlorn silence fell on the car, till they reached home and got out. In the hall Esther laid a hand on Judith's arm. "Frank will be back by now. Are you equal to facing him?" she asked. "I'd sooner not, if you don't mind. I shall go to bed." "Don't fret. Perhaps they will--pull it together, didn't he say?--really!" Judith shook her head mournfully and trailed off upstairs to bed. The hostess stood watching her guest's progress for a moment with what seemed a rather critical eye, and then went in to her husband's study. Frank Norton Ward was seated in front of a tray, and was consuming cold beef and claret with an excellent appetite. An open-air meeting at seven, followed by a church bazaar (with "a few words" from the prospective candidate) from eight-thirty till ten, had been his useful, honourable, but exhausting evening. "Well, here you are!" he greeted his wife cheerfully. "Had a good time, Esther?"