"It's you, Theresa? I went to the office first."
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him. "Are you very tired?"
"No, dear, no. I must find Nancy. Where is she? Where is Mother?"
"In the breakfast-room." She followed him. If there was excitement anywhere she was not going to miss it; but she was anxious, and a sharp pain was driven into her heart when she heard his first words to her mother.
"It has come at last."
Pictures flashed: murder, forgery, bigamy, theft, in which of these had her father been discovered? Her mother had his hand. "What did they say?" she asked, and stroked it. It could not be the police: if they had once caught him, they would never have let him go again.
"Young men. Competition. They tried to be kind. Of course, I cannot blame them. And, it's terrible to confess it, Nancy, but in that first moment I was thankful. People's eyes, haunting me for all these years, seemed suddenly to have closed, and—and I could lift my head. Cowardly! I deserve dismissal. They have offered me a clerkship, as I said they would. How to live on it! Theresa! I did not know you were there."
"Yes, I followed you." Her voice shook with pity for him. "Mother saw me." People's eyes! She saw them socketless, like those she had once detached from the head of Grace's favourite doll. "Is it only money? Then we'll manage. I'm not going to eat meat any more. I loathe the stuff, and lentils are cheap. I'll tell Bessie to order them." They both smiled wanly, strangely alike in that moment. "You needn't laugh. We must be practical. Grace is nearly keeping herself, and I shall be soon. I wish you wouldn't look so miserable." Mere poverty seemed nothing after her fears of crime.
"We must all do what we can. I know you'll help us. Tell Bessie Father wants his supper, dear."
He spoke in a still lower voice. "This means George, Nancy."