"Do what you can for the girl and leave Frederic alone. No man can trifle with his emotions with impunity. That is natural law, Divine law if you like, infinitely more searching than your law of crime and punishment. The trouble with you people is that you think moral laws are a human invention. They're not. They are an inherent principle of the universe, and we are as subject to them as we are to the weather. This thing is Frederic's affair and his only. You and I know perfectly well that he won't look after the girl if he is left to himself, therefore you and I must interfere, for purely humane reasons, as you do with your parishioners, and as I do with any human trouble that I happen to come across. You can give the girl a few pounds to take her down into the country. She'll be much better there, and you can allow her, say, ten shillings a week until she gets work or marries." "I was just writing to her," said Francis. "I wasn't sure whether it's right." "Perhaps it isn't," replied Serge. "But at least it is practical." "I am glad to have talked it over with you. Should I say anything to Frederic?" "No. If you want to hurt him--though I don't see why you should--you will do so far more by simply ignoring him and taking the affair out of his hands." "Thank you. I'll write to the young woman." "If you like I'll find a place in the country for her." "That will be good of you. Thank you." This conversation with Serge relieved Francis enormously. He was like a man who, after long hesitation at a cross-road had followed one way for a mile or two, and then needed reassuring. He had already written half his letter to Annie Lipsett. He thoroughly enjoyed completing it. Serge left him at it and found his mother waiting for him by the dining-room door. She said she wanted to speak to him, drew him into the room, and began to cross-examine him as to what his business might have been with Francis. He told her it was nothing of any importance, and then with a great deal of hesitation she came to her business. "Don't you think Jessie is just the very wife for Frederic, Serge?" "The usual remark that she is far too good for him seems to be peculiarly appropriate." "Serge, does Frederic ever talk to you about himself?" "Only in his more light-hearted moments." There was a moment's hesitation on Mrs. Folyat's part. Then: "Serge, there is an odious woman pursuing Frederic. She is threatening him. Has he told you?" "No. But I know." "Oh! Serge, please, please, can't you save him from her clutches? I have been so wretched about it. Don't let him marry her!" "That," said Serge with gusto, "that he shall not do if I can help it." "Oh! Serge, thank you. . . . Don't let Frederic know I told you, and don't say anything to your father. It would upset him so dreadfully." "No. I won't say anything to either." "Oh! Serge. I shall be grateful to you as long as I live. Why does Heaven allow such creatures . . . . ?"