r had broken down; he
seemed to forget where he was, and he cried as if indeed his heart were
broken. The great tears ran down his cheeks in the sight of all--the
painful tears of men; he had not even the courage to hide his face in
his hands. Still Mrs Griffith made no motion, she never gave a sign that
she heard her husband's agony; but two little red spots appeared angrily
on her cheek bones, and perhaps she compressed her lips a little more
tightly....

V

Six months passed. One evening, when Mr Griffith was standing at the
door after work, smoking his pipe, the postman handed him a letter. He
changed colour and his hand shook when he recognised the handwriting. He
turned quickly into the house.

'A letter from Daisy,' he said. They had not replied to her first
letter, and since then had heard nothing.

'Give it me,' said his wife.

He drew it quickly towards him, with an instinctive gesture of
retention.

'It's addressed to me.'

'Well, then, you'd better open it.'

He looked up at his wife; he wanted to take the letter away and read it
alone, but her eyes were upon him, compelling him there and then to open
it.

'She wants to come back,' he said in a broken voice.

Mrs Griffith snatched the letter from him.

'That means he's left her,' she said.

The letter was all incoherent, nearly incomprehensible, covered with
blots, every other word scratched out. One could see that the girl was
quite distraught, and Mrs Griffith's keen eyes saw the trace of tears on
the paper.... It was a long, bitter cry of repentance. She begged them
to take her back, repeating again and again the cry of penitence,
piteously beseeching them to forgive her.

'I'll go and write to her,' said Mr Griffith.

'Write what?'

'Why--that it's all right and she isn't to worry; and we want her back,
and that I'll go up and fetch her.'

Mrs Griffith placed herself between him and the door.

'What d'you mean?' she cried. 'She's not coming back into my house.'

Mr Griffith started back.

'You don't want to leave her where she is! She says she'll kill
herself.'

'Yes, I believe that,' she replied scornfully; and then, gathering up
her anger, 'D'you mean to say you expect me to have her in the house
after what she's done? I tell you I won't. She's never coming in this
house again as long as I live; I'm an honest woman and she isn't. She's
a--' Mrs Griffith called her daughter the foulest name that can be
applied to her sex.