"By George! He _is_ angry!" thought Frederic. "I only want to know one thing," said Francis. "Did you seduce the young woman with a promise of marriage?" Frederic stole a glance at his father. It was such an odd question coming from him! "There was never anything said of marriage from beginning to end. There never is in these cases. It's so casual, you know. It seems to me jolly unfair that it should have the same result as when you are in dead earnest . . ." "Silence." "Sorry." They walked on for a quarter of a mile. "Does anybody know?" "Only our two selves, Annie and her mother--oh! and Annette." "Annette!" Francis was really angry. The thing had touched his new affection, the treasure of his life, and by that test he saw it in its ugliness and sordidness. For the first time he was wholly human. His one thought was to protect Annette. "Are you going to marry this girl?" he asked. "No." "Are you going to provide for her?" "I'll do my best." "After this do you expect me to allow you to stay in my house?" "I'll clear out if you like." "I do like." "Very well then. Only you lose the right to interfere in the matter, or in my affairs in any way." "I never have interfered in your affairs." "No. . . . You'll let me come and see my mother?" That brought Francis up short. (Frederic knew it would.) Frederic was his mother's favourite. His absence from the house or presence in it made an extraordinary difference to her mood. Lately she had grown very jealous of Annette. . . . Francis fumbled for some means of withdrawing the decree of banishment, and he said a little pompously: "The young woman told me that she was only anxious to get away. I must help her to do that." "I can't let you do that." "I must." "I'm not going to have you interfering . . ." "You will not marry her. I can conceive of no greater misfortune befalling her than marriage with . . ." "I quite agree," said Frederic. "All the same I must see that she is not . . ." "In short, you are going to connive at her immorality." "I refuse to discuss the matter with you any further." "I'm glad of that. I'll leave it in your hands and neither of us will say a word about it to anybody." "No," said Francis, profoundly ashamed. Frederic began to hum, and they walked on until they came to the Park. Frederic said: "I had a sort of feeling you'd take it like that. You never let us know much of what you're thinking and all that. I suppose you think I'm an infernal scoundrel. I'm not that. You can't despise me half as much as I despise myself, but what I most despise is the way I've let you take the thing out of my hands. I'm very grateful." "If there is one thing in the world I don't want," said Francis, "it is gratitude from you."