“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.