Frederic set the pace and they walked briskly up the road to Kersley Church. He hardly said a word, but his companion kept up a running fire of facetious chatter. At the church the tall girl and Haslam (that was the spotty-faced youth's name) walked on and disappeared into the darkness of the moors after arranging to meet again at ten. Frederic was left under the lamp-post with the other girl. She was very little and slight, and she was rather poorly dressed. She looked shyly up at Frederic, and he said: "You're very pretty." "I like you better than the other one." "You see," said Frederic, "I was at school in France." "Oh! France. Are they very wicked in France?" "It depends what you mean by wicked. No more than they are here." "I suppose you won't tell me your name." "I don't mind," said Frederic, with a sudden flow of honesty. He had so often been Snooks and Jones and Walker. "It's Folyat. Fred Folyat." "Mine's Lipsett, Annie Lipsett. It's a silly name." It seemed such a silly name to Frederic that he could find nothing to say, and there came a dead silence between them. She was offended at last and moved away and he had almost lost sight of her in the darkness of the moor when he ran and caught her up. They passed through the posts that filled the entrance to the moor, and Frederic put his arm round her hard little waist. She stopped. He stopped and kissed her and they walked on. There were lovers (and worse) everywhere, and as they crept slowly forward they heard sighs and silly giggles and voices murmuring. It was very dark and the clouds hung low and the wind was a little cold. They found a place to sit where through trees they could see the lights of the houses. Frederic sat a little away from her and with his cane prodded into the ground. "I wonder where the others are," said Annie Lipsett. "Does it matter?" "No." They were silent for a little, then Frederic remembered old Lawrie, and he pursed up his lips as the old man had done and crooned a little to himself. Then, suddenly, he asked: "Are you happy?" He did not wait for her to reply but went on: "I'm wondering why we mess about with it. What's the good of it, all? Who are you? I don't know. Who am I? You don't know. We live in a beastly dirty town and we wander about like lost souls. And because we be lost souls we take anything that comes along--you me, I you. Is it good enough? It's all wrong. But what's right? . . . It's fun, I suppose. Fun! . . . But what else is there?" He took the girl's hand. "I tell you what. I'm damned sorry for you." "Of course," said Annie Lipsett. "Of course, you're a gentleman."