According to custom Harry Burgess set out from the National School, where the rehearsals were held, with Ethel and Milly for Hillport. But at the bottom of Church Street Ethel silently fell behind and joined a fourth figure which had approached. The two couples walked separately to Hillport by the field-path. As Harry and Milly opened the wicket at the foot of Stanway's long garden, Ethel ran up, alone again. 'That you?' cried a thin voice under the trees by the gate. It was Rose, taking late exercise after her studies. 'Yes, it's us,' replied Harry. 'Shall you give me a whisky if I come in?' And he entered the house with the three girls. 'I'm certain Rose saw you with Fred in the field, and if she did she's sure to split to mother,' Milly whispered as she and Ethel ran upstairs. They could hear Harry already strumming on the piano. 'I don't care!' said Ethel callously, exasperated by three days of futility at the office, and by the manifest injustice of fate. 'My dear, I want to speak to you,' said Leonora to Ethel, when the informal supper was over, and Harry had buckishly departed, and Rose and Milly were already gone upstairs. Not a word had been mentioned as to the great episode of the rehearsal. 'Well, mother?' Ethel answered in a tone of weary defiance. Leonora still sat at the supper-table, awaiting John, who was out at a meeting; Ethel stood leaning against the mantelpiece like a boy. 'How often have you been seeing Fred Ryley lately?' Leonora began with a gentle, pacific inquiry. 'I see him every day at the works, mother.' 'I don't mean at the works; you know that, Ethel.' 'I suppose Rose has been telling you things.' 'Rose told me quite innocently that she happened to see Fred in the field to-night.' 'Oh, yes!' Ethel sneered with cold irony. 'I know Rose's innocence!' 'My dear girl,' Leonora tried to reason with her. 'Why will you talk like that? You know you promised your father----' 'No, I didn't, ma,' Ethel interrupted her sharply. 'Milly did; I never promised father anything.' Leonora was astonished at the mutinous desperation in Ethel's tone. It left her at a loss. 'I shall have to tell your father,' she said sadly. 'Well, of course, mother,' Ethel managed her voice carefully. 'You tell him everything.' 'No, I don't, my dear,' Leonora denied the charge like a girl. 'A week last night I heard Fred Ryley talking to you at your window. And I have said nothing.' Ethel flushed hotly at this disclosure. 'Then why say anything now?' she murmured, half daunted and half daring. 'Your father must know. I ought to have told him before. But I have been wondering how best to act.' 'What's the matter with Fred, mother?' Ethel demanded, with a catch in her throat.