It seemed not so much the fact that a girl would give up her reputation for a man, that impressed Mrs Hankworth unpleasantly, but that she would give it into the keeping of such a man.  She did not expect impossible things of anybody.  No one belonging to her had ever made a slip, and such a happening seemed to be so remote a possibility for anyone “connected,” that she could spare great charity for the rest of the world.  Nor did she believe in “driving people.”  If a girl had made a mistake, that was no reason why everyone else should make another, and her good sense revolted against a perpetually drawn-out punishment for any fault.  Her disgust at this fault, not very deep, being submerged almost as it arose, by the immediate necessity for doing something, and a reminiscent understanding of the timidity and dread with which the first child-bearing might be regarded by an ignorant and forsaken girl.  Her position as the reputable and capable mother of a family being unassailable, no one could consider that kindness to the girl implied any countenancing of her offence.  Anne, puzzled and baffled by the things which she had seen, felt herself in a larger sphere which could consider the fact of birth as a small matter for everyday occurrence and preparation, happen however it might.

“You can’t do anything by worrying, Miss Hilton, you know,” said Mrs Hankworth.  “You’ve got to wait.  There’s nothing anybody can do but wait.  There’s our John.  I think he gets more nervous every child we have.  I always say to him that he can’t help anything by worrying, and in any case I’m the person who’s got to go through it; but it makes no difference.  He can’t be satisfied till he sees me walking about again.  The girl’ll be quite right when she’s got the baby to work for.  She’s nothing to do now but wait and think about it and herself.  You’ll see when she’s up and about again she’ll be another thing.  I hope the baby’s a boy.  It’ll be sooner forgotten about if he is.”

“I’m afraid,” said Anne, growing expansive beneath the good sense which attacked every practical side of the matter, and dissolved difficulties as soon as they arose, “that she’ll get little work to do when she comes out.  People talk unkindly, and say that you must make a difference between her and other girls.”

“Oh! there’ll always be some clever folk like that,” said Mrs Hankworth, drily.  “The difference that anyone can see if they use their eyes is, that she’ll have a child to keep and they won’t.  She’s no idea where she’ll go, I suppose?”

“She doesn’t seem to know where she is now,” replied Anne.  “It’s terrible to see anybody drinking such bitter waters as that poor girl.  She thinks we’re all against her, and I’m a religious old maid.  So she shuts herself up, and doesn’t say a word.”

“Don’t you worry, Miss Hilton,” said Mrs Hankworth; “she’ll look for friends when the baby comes.  She’ll stir herself for his sake, if she won’t for her own.  We’re going to have Mr Charter to stop to-morrow night.  You’ll be going to the Home Missions, won’t you?” she said, as if all had been said that could be.