"My husband left me with five children and went off with a theatre woman. He takes young girls and trains them for the dancing. He's a rich man now, but I don't have a penny from him. It's hard work making a living with the lodgers, and you can't do it when there's illness." "No, I suppose not. I'm very sorry," replied Francis uneasily. "If I can do anything. . ." "_Do_ anything!" Mrs. Lipsett was scornful. "As if you could. I've worked my fingers to the bone. Two of the girls are in a shop. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been them, though it would have been bad enough. But Annie's stayed at home helping me, and I don't see what's to be done. I don't see what's to be done. He's owned up to it. There's that much to be said for him. But that doesn't help much, does it?" "Who? . . . I don't know. . . . I'm in the dark . . ." "You've not had my letter . . . !" "Letter?" "Yes. That tells you." "Tells me what?" "What you ought to know." "About whom? About what?" "Him." "Your husband?" "No. Him and her." Francis had learned patience in dealing with his parishioners, who were incapable of a direct statement. Mrs. Lipsett had no intention of being mysterious. It only showed that she could not bring herself to the point of open discussion of her affairs with a stranger. She had flung a certain amount of anger into her letter, all the anger she was capable of feeling, and she was not equal to the task of whipping it up again now that she was in the presence of the man to whom she had written in her first desire to injure Frederic. She made an effort and went on: "I can't have it in the house. I can't lose my lodgers. It would frighten the lodgers." "What would?" Mrs. Lipsett looked desperate. "Don't you know?" "No, I don't," replied Francis, rather petulantly. Mrs. Lipsett had risen to her feet. Now she sank back again into her chair and began to cry. Francis preferred that to her incoherence. "My good woman," he said. "You seem to be in some trouble. If I can give you any consolation . . ." "I am in trouble," moaned Mrs. Lipsett. "I'm always in trouble. I've never been out of trouble since I was born. Some people are like that you know." These reflections cheered her up perceptibly, and she asked Francis if he would mind if she began to cook the first floor's tea. Francis began to feel exasperated. "My good woman," he said, "will you kindly explain what my son has to do with all this, and why he has brought me here?" Mrs. Lipsett had moved to the table and taken up an armful of linen. "Didn't he tell you?" "No." Mrs. Lipsett dropped her linen, ran to the door and screamed "Annie!" A voice answered her. "Come here!" Mrs. Lipsett turned to Francis, folded her arms and with her lips tight pressed she worried out her words: "Not told you, hasn't he? Leaving me to make a nice fool of myself! I've heard of you, Mr. Folyat! That innocent you are that you don't know you're born yet. . . ."