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‘This is most unfortunate, most unfortunate!’ he moaned. ‘I am so sorry, I am so sorry, indeed, indeed, ah, indeed!’ he sighed himself to a close.

‘It’s a sudden surprise, that’s one thing,’ said Fanny brightly.

‘Yes–yes–indeed. Yes, a surprise, yes. I don’t know the woman, I don’t know her.’

‘I know her,’ said Fanny. ‘She’s a bad one.’

‘Well! Well!’ said the minister. ‘I don’t know her. I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all. But it is to be regretted, it is very much to be regretted. I am very sorry.’

Fanny was watching the vestry door. The gallery stairs communicated with the vestry, not with the body of the chapel. She knew the choir members had been peeping for information.

At last Harry came–rather sheepishly–with his hat in his hand.

‘Well!’ said Fanny, rising to her feet.

‘We’ve had a bit of an extra,’ said Harry.

‘I should think so,’ said Fanny.

‘A most unfortunate circumstance–a most unfortunate circumstance. Do you understand it, Harry? I don’t understand it at all.’

‘Ah, I understand it. The daughter’s goin’ to have a childt, an’ ‘er lays it on to me.’

‘And has she no occasion to?’ asked Fanny, rather censorious.

‘It’s no more mine than it is some other chap’s,’ said Harry, looking aside.

There was a moment of pause.

‘Which girl is it?’ asked Fanny.

‘Annie–the young one–‘

There followed another silence.

‘I don’t think I know them, do I?’ asked the minister.

‘I shouldn’t think so. Their name’s Nixon–mother married old Bob for her second husband. She’s a tanger–‘s driven the gel to what she is. They live in Manners Road.’

‘Why, what’s amiss with the girl?’ asked Fanny sharply. ‘She was all right when I knew her.’

‘Ay–she’s all right. But she’s always in an’ out o’ th’ pubs, wi’ th’ fellows,’ said Harry.

‘A nice thing!’ said Fanny.

Harry glanced towards the door. He wanted to get out.

‘Most distressing, indeed!’ The minister slowly shook his head.

‘What about tonight, Mr. Enderby?’ asked Harry, in rather a small voice. ‘Shall you want me?’

Mr. Enderby looked up painedly, and put his hand to his brow. He studied Harry for some time, vacantly. There was the faintest sort of a resemblance between the two men.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I think. I think we must take no notice, and cause as little remark as possible.’

Fanny hesitated. Then she said to Harry.

‘But will you come?’

He looked at her.

‘Ay, I s’ll come,’ he said.

Then he turned to Mr. Enderby.

‘Well, good-afternoon, Mr. Enderby,’ he said.

‘Good-afternoon, Harry, good-afternoon,’ replied the mournful minister. Fanny followed Harry to the door, and for some time they walked in silence through the late afternoon.

‘And it’s yours as much as anybody else’s?’ she said.

‘Ay,’ he answered shortly.

And they went without another word, for the long mile or so, till they came to the corner of the street where Harry lived. Fanny hesitated. Should she go on to her aunt’s? Should she? It would mean leaving all this, for ever. Harry stood silent.

Some obstinacy made her turn with him along the road to his own home. When they entered the house-place, the whole family was there, mother and father and Jinny, with Jinny’s husband and children and Harry’s two brothers.

‘You’ve been having yours ears warmed, they tell me,’ said Mrs. Goodall grimly.

‘Who telled thee?’ asked Harry shortly.

‘Maggie and Luke’s both been in.’

‘You look well, don’t you!’ said interfering Jinny.

Harry went and hung his hat up, without replying.

‘Come upstairs and take your hat off,’ said Mrs. Goodall to Fanny, almost kindly. It would have annoyed her very much if Fanny had dropped her son at this moment.

‘What’s ‘er say, then?’ asked the father secretly of Harry, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs whence Fanny had disappeared.

‘Nowt yet,’ said Harry.

‘Serve you right if she chucks you now,’ said Jinny. ‘I’ll bet it’s right about Annie Nixon an’ you.’

‘Tha bets so much,’ said Harry.

‘Yi–but you can’t deny it,’ said Jinny.

‘I can if I’ve a mind.’

His father looked at him inquiringly.

‘It’s no more mine than it is Bill Bower’s, or Ted Slaney’s, or six or seven on ’em,’ said Harry to his father.