"I don't believe it.”

"It's true as I stand here. I got her round all right. I had a good look at her. I wasn't born yesterday. I know a pregnant girl when I see one, and I saw one yesterday. I sent the others out, then I made her tell me. All she could say was that she loved him and there didn't seem nothing wrong in it at the time. That's what they all say"?

"Marcus!" whispered Carolan.

That's about the ticket. Been hanging round here a lot, he has. He's artful as a monkey, he is. It wouldn't be easy for a girl like her to say no to him. You see, he knows just how to get round her, him ... going all religious-like just to make her feel everything's all right, and talking about love being beautiful and sacred. I reckon; and then she gives way... that's how trouble starts.”

Margery watched her. She had to admire her. Her face was blank and white, so that you wouldn't know what was going on behind her eyes.

They were hard and bright like precious stones. And how they glittered.

That's got you, my fine lady! That's pricked your pride. Thought he was all for you, didn't you? Thought he couldn't look at anyone else.

You've got a lot to learn, my pretty. Men is men all the world over.

Carolan went past Margery right out into the yard. She went to Esther, and the way she dragged her from the pump showed what she was feeling.

She could have murdered the girl, it was clear. She was wishing she had never met her.

That would teach her to give herself airs. Oh, but so lovely she was, lovelier in her rage than she was when she was soft. And just because she held her head so high, it made you want to cry for her, made your inside go all funny. It seemed there was some evil blight on her lovemaking. First that parson who didn't move a hand's turn to save her. Then Marcus, who was mad for her, and yet couldn't keep himself straight for her. There's men for you! Not worth a penny piece, the whole boiling of them. Ruining a girl's life like that. Oh, she was wild! Oh, she was angry! She was sad too. She was flaying the girl with her tongue. pouring contempt on her. Sly thing, all that praying, and then to go behind her dear friend's back... Margery wiped a tear away from her eyes. It was something that couldn't be helped.

Margery had seen it coming. The girl's blossoming, washing her hair under the pump till it was all shining and made little curls all round her forehead; watching the window for a sight of him, listening for his step. A woman can't have such goings on in her kitchen and not get a bit of a kick out of it herself.

That evening, that was the beginning. Her ladyship flouncing down for something or other and seeing Marcus there at the table drinking a glass of ale, and her looking at him like he was a bit of dirt beneath her feet, when all the time she was jealous because he was sitting so close to Esther. She didn't stay in the kitchen; she went upstairs again. And the way his eyes followed her, started making your own water. She was just a child really. Seventeen. It ain't so easy to remember what you was at seventeen. Pretty silly... making a fool of yourself. Well, that was what Mistress Carolan had done ... made a fool of herself and Esther and Marcus too for that matter. Him and her! What a pair! They rushed at life; there wasn't any sense in rushing at life; you came a cropper sure as you were born. There was her ladyship wanting him, and there was him wanting her. But no, she has to be all pride and dignity just because he let a woman keep him to get started on his way of life; and he has to show his anger with her by pretending to be interested in someone else. If you've been young and in love yourself, you know. Silly children! Want a good smacking, both of them.

She had made Esther drink gin that night, a lot of it. It was easy enough to keep filling her glass. And he had drunk too, and got reckless, and that was the beginning. Esther was pretty enough when she was lively, when she wasn't saving her prayers, when she was wanting a bit of life like other girls wanted. He was never the man to miss his opportunities; it was as natural and easy as eating and drinking to him. He was made that way. That was how it happened ... and give young people a taste for that sort of thing, and there you are. They don't stop at once... not if she knew anything about it! And there was her ladyship, tripping about upstairs, getting dresses out of the mistress, altering them, like some queen's favourite, making her lover wait a while to show her displeasure. Ha! Ha! It was funny, whatever way you looked at it.

Carolan came in from the yard. She looked like a sleepwalker, with all the life taken out of her.

"Now, lovey," said Margery, 'it don't do to take these things to heart, and all this keeping a man waiting never did pay, to my mind.”

But she had walked through the kitchen as though Margery was not there.

"Draw the curtains, Carolan. I think I will have a rest for a while.”

"I will leave you, M'am; you will rest better without me." Her voice was hard, determined. She could not stay in this room; she could not bear it. She would scream, be rude to the woman, would cry out: "Oh, stop talking of your silly ailments! What do you think I am suffering ... I have lost Marcus! First Everard Then Marcus!”

"I wish to turn out one of the cupboards in the toilet-room. If you need me, you can knock on the wall.”

Docilely Lucille Masterman nodded, and Carolan went out.

She looked at herself in the long mirror. How strange she looked! If that selfish woman in there had been the least bit interested in anything but herself and her silly medicines she would have noticed.

There was no one to condole with Carolan. Margery was laughing up her sleeve. Esther could weep till she could not see, but she was weeping for herself and her predicament. Esther! The virtuous Esther whom she had looked upon as something near a saint, creeping out to him like a servant girl. Esther! Her friend no longer. She wished she had never seen her, never listened to her whining voice. Esther and Marcus.

Marcus and Esther. Together. Making love.

"I hope you said your prayers, Esther, before you began!" The words had made the girl flinch, and serve her right. Sly, deceitful little hypocrite! And Marcus, the beast! She was well rid of him. Had she married him, what would her life have been? He would not have been true to her for a week. I hate them both. I hate them. She had said: "Mr. Masterman will be furious when he hears. He will want to know how it happened, who the man is. He will want to know how you came to be entertaining convicts in his house. I would not be in your shoes, Esther." She had had the satisfaction of hearing Esther's strangled words "I wish I were .dead.”

Weak, snivelling Esther. What will become of her now? What will Mr.

Masterman say? Momentarily she tore herself away from her sorrow to visualize the man. Cold profile, eyes that could glow warm enough for her; but his sort, when they knew what it meant to feel desire, were harsher to those who gave way to it.

I would not be in your shoes, Esther! But she would, of course. She, who loved Marcus, would have given a good deal to be in Esther's shoes, bearing Marcus's child, having been loved by Marcus.

Why does everything go wrong with me? she asked her, reflection. First Everard, now Marcus. Why, why?

The answer was there in the headstrong line of her jaw, in the tilt of her head, in the shine of her eyes. She herself was the answer, and the losing of Marcus was more her own fault than anything that had happened to her.

She wanted Marcus, She loved Marcus. Only now did she know how much.

Only now when it was too late; for it was too late. She must face that. She could never marry Marcus now. How could she? When Esther was to have his child.

Let Esther have the child; what did it matter? Queer thoughts darted into her mind. There was a doctor, an ex-convict; he had helped Mrs.

Masterman why should he not help Esther?

No! Let Esther find her own way out of her difficulties. She would not help her. She imagined Esther, standing before Mr. Masterman, explaining her guilt What would happen to Esther! Who cared what happened to Esther! Esther had acted without thought of the morrow.

Let the morrow take care of itself. All right, let it!

And meanwhile, what of herself? Lonely and sad, loving Marcus who did not love her whatever he might say. she sank down on a pile of clothes she had turned out of one of the cupboards. All her pride left her. and she sobbed brokenheartedly.

Quite suddenly she was aware of not being alone. She turned slowly, saw first his shapely legs in well-cut riding breeches, his good though sober coat, his fair face pale like a statue she had seen carved in stone at Vauxhall Gardens.

He did not move; he was embarrassed. He said: "I am afraid you are very unhappy. If there is anything I can do to help..." She smiled sadly and shook her head.

"There is nothing, thank you.”

"Oh, but surely there is?”

He knelt down on the pile of clothes beside her.

"You are very kind." she said, and she thought, for seven years I shall stay here working in this house, for him and the woman in there.

There will be no hope of escape now. And she realized how, even while she tossed her head and refused to be friends with him she had been longing for reunion with Marcus, for the life he had talked of, on the station. The thought of her blind folly set the tears gushing out of her eyes again.

"Oh, come," he said, "you must not be so upset. Will you not tell me your trouble?”