He produced a slip of printed paper.  Frank stood still a moment, leaning against some area-railings—­they were in the distinguished quarter of Victoria Park Road—­and read the paragraph through.  The clergyman watched him curiously.  It seemed to him a very remarkable situation that he should be standing here in Victoria Park Road, giving information to a son as to his father’s marriage.  He wondered, but only secondarily, what effect it would have upon Frank.

Frank gave him the paper back without a tremor.

“Thanks very much,” he said.  “No; I didn’t know.”

They continued to walk.

“D’you know her at all?”

“Yes, I know her.  She’s the Rector’s daughter, you know.”

“What!  At Merefield?  Then you must know her quite well.”

“Oh! yes,” said Frank, “I know her quite well.”

Again there was silence.  Then the other burst out: 

“Look here—­I wish you’d let me do something.  It seems to me perfectly ghastly—­”

“My dear man,” said Frank.  “Indeed you can’t do anything....  You got my note, didn’t you?”

The clergyman nodded.

“It’s just in case I’m ill, or anything, you know.  Jack’s a great friend of mine.  And it’s just as well that some friend of mine should be able to find out where I am.  I’ve just written to him myself, as I said in my note.  But you mustn’t give him my address unless in case of real need.”

“All right.  But are you sure—­”

“I’m perfectly sure....  Oh! by the way, that lady you sent round did no good.  I expect she told you?”

“Yes; she said she’d never come across such a difficult case.”

“Well, I shall have to try again myself....  I must turn off here.  Good luck!”

(IV)

Gertie was sitting alone in the kitchen about nine o’clock that night—­alone, that is to say, except for the sleeping ’Erb, who, in a cot at the foot of his mother’s bed, was almost invisible under a pile of clothes, and completely negligible as a witness.  Mrs. Partington, with the other two children, was paying a prolonged visit in Mortimer Road, and the Major, ignorant of this fact, was talking big in the bar of the “Queen’s Arms” opposite the Men’s Club of the Eton Mission.

Gertie was enjoying herself just now, on the whole.  It is true that she had received some chastisement yesterday from the Major; but she had the kind of nature that preferred almost any sensation to none.  And, indeed, the situation was full of emotion.  It was extraordinarily pleasant to her to occupy such a position between two men—­and, above all, two “gentlemen.”  Her attitude towards the Major was of the most simple and primitive kind; he was her man, who bullied her, despised her, dragged her about the country, and she never for one instant forgot that he had once been an officer in the army.  Even his blows (which, to tell the truth, were not