"Common what?" asked his mother harshly. Alf, like many another sinner, had a genuine and almost child-like belief in his mother's innocence and lack of knowledge of those processes of nature with which she might be assumed to be familiar. He raised a deprecatory hand as though to brush her irritably aside. "You wouldn't understand if I was to tell you," he groaned, screwing up his little yellow face as he did when wrestling in prayer for sinners. "Nor I wouldn't wish you to. My heart's fair broke. That's enough for you." He buried his face in his hands. "He's been a bad brother to me, very bad. Couldn't well ha been worse. Anybody could tell you that. But blood is blood, and blood is thicker nor what water is, as I'm finding now to my cost." Anne Caspar came closer. "Is he goin to marry her?" she asked. "Ah," said Alf. "And that ain't all. Not by no means--nor the lesser 'alf of it eether." His mother was still fiercely cold. "Is she the one he got into trouble?" Alf evaded her swiftly. "It ain't his child though." "What?" she snarled. "Is there a brat?" She turned on the gas. The tears were rolling down Alf's cheeks as he nodded assent. "Me own blood-brother and all!" was what he said. "I can't look folks in the face, I can't." Just then the study-door opened and shut again. Ernie came out into the darkened passage. The kitchen-door was wide. Through it the two brothers stared at each other, Ernie standing in the dusk, Alf sitting in the gas-light. Then Ernie spoke. "Tellin the tale, Alf?" he said with quiet irony. Alf waved his brother away. "You've broke my eart," he said, "and your mother's. Not as you care, not you!" "If that's all I've broke I ain't done much 'arm, old son," came the still voice out of the dusk; and the outer door shut. His wife was the one creature in the world to whom Edward Caspar was consistently hard; and her husband the only one to whom Anne was unfailingly considerate. In her inmost consciousness she knew the reason of her husband's attitude, and bowed to it as to an inexorable ordinance of Nature. Throughout her married life she had paid the penalty of the woman who has taken the lead in matters of sex. Fierce though she was, there were few more old-fashioned than Anne Caspar, and from the start she had seemed to recognize and be resigned to the justice of her fate. That night as the couple went to bed, Edward said from the dressing-room with a touch of tenderness he rarely showed his wife: "Mother, Ern's going to be married." "You needn't tell me," said Anne harshly. "There's a bastard. Did he tell you that?" It was seldom that Anne allowed herself to indulge in coarseness when addressing her husband. He gave his familiar little click of disgust, and shut the door between the two rooms. That night he did not join her but slept, if he slept at all, on the camp-bed in the dressing-room. Next day, Anne Caspar went round to interview Mrs. Trupp.