They seemed to understand each other; he was
earning good money, thirty shillings a week, and she was now going on for
eight-and-twenty; if she was ever going to be married it was time to think
about it.
"I don't know how that dear soul will get on without me," she said one
October morning as they jogged out of London by a slow train from St.
Paul's. Fred was taking her into Kent to see his people.
"How do you expect me to get on without you?"
Esther laughed.
"Trust you to manage somehow. There ain't much fear of a man not looking
after his little self."
"But the old folk will want to know when. What shall I tell them?"
"This time next year; that'll be soon enough. Perhaps you'll get tired of
me before then."
"Say next spring, Esther."
The train stopped.
"There's father waiting for us in the spring-cart. Father! He don't hear
us. He's gone a bit deaf of late years. Father!"
"Ah, so here you are. Train late."
"This is Esther, father."
They were going to spend the day at the farm-house, and she was going to
be introduced to Fred's sisters and to his brother. But these did not
concern her much, her thoughts were set on Mrs. Parsons, for Fred had
spoken a great deal about his mother. When she had been told about Jackie
she was of course very sorry; but when she had heard the whole of Esther's
story she had said, "We are all born into temptation, and if your Esther
has really repented and prayed to be forgiven, we must not say no to her.
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