He did his best to think of Frederic as a husband, but it was quite hopeless. Frederic was more than ever elusive. It was impossible to conceive him in any responsible position. That made Francis see that it was quite useless to stay any longer. He could only go on repeating that he was sorry. He saw no method of coercing Frederic into marriage (or anything else). The most he could do was to be parentally angry, and he saw the futility of that. If necessary, in the cause of good morals, he could turn Frederic out of doors, but that would necessitate a scene and explanations, and from that he shrank. Only one thing was now clear--that there was nothing to be gained by further discussion with Mrs. Lipsett and her daughter. He rose to his feet again and said: "I am sorry, very sorry, extremely sorry. I will see my son. I will do what I can. I promise you that everything that can be done will be done." "Promises," said Mrs. Lipsett, "are like pie-crusts--made to be broken." "Not mine," returned Francis, as he bowed himself out. Annie took him to the door and said: "I only want to get away, sir. I only want to get away." Francis looked into her eager face. She was almost very pretty, and her eagerness was very touching. He was moved and a lump came into his throat, and tears filled his eyes, and he said: "God bless you, my dear. You shall." She bowed her head as he passed out, and as he heard the latch click he said to himself: "Surely she has suffered enough." And he felt a purely masculine anger against Frederic, anger which oozed and trickled away on the instant, for, as he turned up the street, he saw his son waiting for him at the corner. As he walked up the street he called Frederic poltroon, scoundrel, blackguard, lecher, debauchee, wastrel, but none of these words could revive his anger. As he came face to face with his son he found another word--play-actor, and if he had sympathy for Annie, the betrayed, he had pity for Frederic, her betrayer. She could suffer, had suffered. Frederic could feel nothing at all. "After all," thought Francis, "he is my son. I have had my share in making him what he is." He looked clean through Frederic and made no sign of recognition, but passed on with his heavy rolling stride. Frederic fell in by his side like a terrier trying to attract the attention of a Newfoundland. "I wonder what they've said to him. I suppose he's devilish angry." And he fell to counting up his income and his debts, and wondering exactly how cheaply he could live in lodgings. They walked for about half a mile in that fashion and it was Frederic who broke the silence. "I didn't mean to leave you like that. I meant to have it all out in one grand scene. I didn't jib at it. I'm not a coward. Only suddenly it seemed to me so absurdly melodramatic. I couldn't stand it so I cleared out . . ." "I don't think any explanation is necessary," replied Francis in a curious toneless voice.