‘They say she’ve a wedding-ring, but I don’t think much to that,’ observed Mrs Smith, of the largest village-shop; ‘there’s a many as goes to put wedding-rings on their fingers that they may appear a bit more like honest folk.’ Mrs Smith had been established for some years in the shop; she had a respectable husband and a baby-child--a dark-eyed, eighteen-months’ child, too plump and heavy to walk, who insisted upon crawling, to the danger of its clothes. When wretched wayfarers lay on door-steps in the night-time it will be understood that she did not feel akin to them--they were only of assistance in the way of exciting tidings which she could impart to the ears of her customers. This little excitement may be considered the advantage which can be gained from wrong-doers by the virtuous. But it was not only by virtuous shop-owners that the delinquencies of poor Annie were discussed, they were turned into the favourite theme of conversation by the lounging youths who were waiting for harvest-work, and who meanwhile chose to lean against village-walls, and bask in the blaze of the blue sky and August sun. There was one in particular who had once been her admirer, and who now sneered perceptibly when he spoke of her, a tall, not ill-looking lad of twenty years, whose face had the shadow of dissipation or regret. I fear it is only in novels and poems that discarded lovers are always generous--at any rate there was no especial generosity in the words of the lads who were talking beneath the August sky--they said ‘she would have to come down from her high ladder, she wouldn’t find boys now as would speak to her.’ And then, having paused to take their pipes out of their mouths and laugh, they returned to the enjoyment of their pipes again. The name of Annie Salter had been turned into a by-word, that was certain at any rate, there could be no doubt of it. And already it was beginning to be considered desirable that further investigations into her conduct should be made. ‘I thought as I’d like to call on Mrs Salter,’ said a blooming young woman who was visiting the Manor Farm, and who lingered awhile in the pleasant, ample kitchen to discuss village matters with Mr Robson’s wife. ‘But I found her that high, and that silent in her manner, as I don’t think there’s very much to be got from her.’ She gave a sigh here, and a little shrug to her shoulders, and then took the seat that Mrs Robson offered at once. Mrs Robson was really distressed, and in anxiety, but she was willing to receive information all the same. ‘There’s Alice been crying,’ she said, as she sat down, and spread out her hands upon her ample knees; ‘an’ I’m sure, though I say it as should not be one to say it, she’s not one as often neglects her work to cry. But you’ve been to Mrs Salter, as you say, Mrs Jones, an’ so you’ll be able to give us a bit o’ news. Did you see Annie, tell us now, did you see Annie, an’ what did her mother say about it all?’