Annie came in and cut short anything else she might have to say. "Yes, mother?" "Isn't Mr. Folyat with you?" "No. I thought he was here with you." "Sloped, has he? Sloped!--This is Mr. Folyat's father." "Good evening," said Annie. An awkward silence came on the three of them, and all three thought of Frederic with varying degrees of wrath. "My daughter . . ." began Mrs. Lipsett. "Mother!" "Tell him yourself then." Annie blushed. "I can't." Mrs. Lipsett dropped into the vernacular. "Eh! I am vexed!" Francis took his hat and rose with some dignity. "I am sorry," he said, "but as neither of you seem disposed to enlighten me . . ." Annie stood between him and the door. She blurted out: "It's Fred, Mr. Folyat. It wasn't fair of him to leave you alone with mother like that. We saw you going by and he said he'd go and tell you. I suppose he didn't. He's like that. He means well." "Means well!" This from Mrs. Lipsett. "Please, mother!" Annie went on. "Fred ought to have told you, Mr. Folyat. I'm as much to blame as he is. I suppose I'm very wicked, but there's some things you can't help. We didn't think, I suppose. But it's come to that, that we've got to think. I'm going to be a mother in three months, and Fred wants to help as much as he can." Francis sat down again. "Frederic!" "Yes. The beauty! Ain't you proud of him?" Frederic! Francis was not so much shocked as amazed. He was only too accustomed to irregularity, large and small, but he had always regarded the victims of it as creatures of another clay. Automatically by their offence they passed from one compartment of his mind to another. Where possible they were given benefit of clergy, but only as one finds a home for a stray dog. . . . Mrs. Lipsett said: "I say he ought to marry her."