Rita and her husband lived opposite Martin's yard. As he came out of it, René was confronted by Ann leaving their house with a basin under her arm. "I've been seeing Rita," she said. "Joe's been out of work since the coal strike, and he's going on the drink. Her time's coming, and someone's got to do for her. It was for her I took the money." "I--I beg your pardon, Ann. Why didn't you say so before?" "It was the way you looked, Renny, dear. You do frighten me so." "I'm sorry. Can I do anything to help?" "It may be to-morrow. Anyway, soon. Would you mind keeping Joe away? He's not your sort, I know, but he must be kept away." "All right. He shall be kept away. Is she in for a bad time?" "I'm afraid she is. Work's been so skeery of Joe these times that it's been all she's been able to do to feed the children." "That's bad. But she ought to have thought of herself." "Sometimes," said Ann, "there isn't room for everybody to be thought of. If you can get through a day or two it's as much as you can manage without thinking what's going to happen in a month's time." "Don't you ever look ahead, Ann?" "No. What's the good? Whenever I do, it only frightens me." "Are you frightened of anything now?" "A little." They had reached their room and she had begun to wriggle out of her clothes. "I don't like your being frightened, my dear. There's nothing can hurt us, and being hurt is no great thing." "All in the day's work, eh? Oh, well. Some things. But, don't you see, I think I'm going to be like Rita." "Ann!" She looked at him queerly, almost maliciously. "What did y'expect? Making me so fond of you?" He said lamely: "I--I hadn't thought of it." She was stung into silence. Presently she crept into bed and lay with her face to the wall. In a tone of almost petulant disappointment she said at length: "I fancied that was why you were putting by all that money. I was pleased about that, I was."