'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.
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