A--A--men! The congregation fell to its knees, and the curate, rolling his eyes to see who was in church, began gabbling the morning prayers--'
II
At the Sunday dinner, the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them. Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in silence; every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at the empty space, filled with a madness of grief.... He had gone into Tercanbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy's friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He could not believe that George Browning's story was true, he could so easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station. And even he had gone to the barracks--his cheeks still burned with the humiliation--asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith.
He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished passionately that it were Monday, so that he could work. And the post would surely bring a letter, explaining.
'The vicar asked where you were,' said Mrs Griffith.
Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes were hard and shining, her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his son; he was frowning; he looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very sorry.... Perhaps they were even glad.
'I was the only one who loved her,' he muttered to himself, and pushing back his chair he got up and left the room. He almost tottered; he had aged twenty years in the night.
'Aren't you going to have any pudding?' asked his wife.
He made no answer.
He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit took him to the workshop, where, every Sunday afternoon, he was used to going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and to-day also he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, examined the Saturday's work....
Mrs Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease in his clumsy Sunday clothes, went on with their dinner.
'D'you think the vicar knew?' he asked as soon as the father had closed the door.
'I don't think he'd have asked if he had. Mrs Gray might, but he's too simple--unless she put him up to it.'
'I thought I should never get round with the plate,' said George. Mr Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well-to-do, which is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his father's occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently required.
'I wasn't going to let them get anything out of me,' said Mrs Griffith, defiantly.
All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what the Griffiths felt and thought; but Mrs Griffith had been inscrutable.
III
Next day the Griffiths lay in wait for the postman; George sat by the parlour window, peeping through the muslin curtains.
'Fanning's just coming up the street,' he said at last. Until the post had come old Griffith could not work; in the courtyard at the back was heard the sound of hammering.
There was a rat-tat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the mat, and Fanning the postman passed on. George leaned back quickly so that he might not see him. Mr Griffith fetched the letter, opened it with trembling hands.... He gave a little gasp of relief.
'She's got a situation in London.'
'Is that all she says?' asked Mrs Griffith. 'Give me the letter,' and she almost tore it from her husband's hand.
She read it through and uttered a little ejaculation of contempt--almost of triumph. 'You don't mean to say you believe that?' she cried.
'Let's look, mother,' said George. He read the letter and he too gave a snort of contempt.
'She says she's got a situation,' repeated Mrs Griffith, with a sneer at her husband, 'and we're not to be angry or anxious, and she's quite happy--and we can write to Charing Cross Post Office. I know what sort of a situation she's got.'
Mr Griffith looked from his wife to his son.
'Don't you think it's true?' he asked helplessly. At the first moment he had put the fullest faith in Daisy's letter, he had been so anxious to believe it; but the scorn of the others....
'There's Miss Reed coming down the street,' said George. 'She's looking this way, and she's crossing over. I believe she's coming in.'
'What does she want?' asked Mrs Griffith, angrily.
There was another knock at the door, and through the curtains they saw Miss Reed's eyes looking towards them, trying to pierce the muslin. Mrs Griffith motioned the two men out of the room, and hurriedly put antimacassars on the chairs. The knock was repeated, and Mrs Griffith, catching hold of a duster, went to the door.
'Oh, Miss Reed! Who'd have thought of seeing you?' she cried with surprise.
'I hope I'm not disturbing,' answered Miss Reed, with an acid smile.
'Oh, dear no!' said Mrs Griffith. 'I was just doing the dusting in the parlour. Come in, won't you? The place is all upside down, but you won't mind that, will you?'
Miss Reed sat on the edge of a chair.
