“Never mind. I couldn’t risk it. They might say what they pleased about me, but you’re going to start fair. Who’s to recognise me after all these years? I’m just John McEachern from America, and if anybody wants to know anything about me, I’m a man who has made money on Wall Street—and that’s no lie—and has come over to England to spend it.” Molly gave his arm another squeeze. Her eyes were wet.
“Father dear,” she whispered, “I believe you’ve been doing it all for me. You’ve been slaving away for me ever since I was born, stinting yourself and saving money just so that I could have a good time later on.”
“No, no!”
“It’s true,” she said. She turned on him with a tremulous laugh. “I don’t believe you’ve had enough to eat for years. I believe you’re all skin and bone. Never mind. To-morrow I’ll take you out and buy you the best dinner you’ve ever had out of my own money. We’ll go to the Ritz, and you shall start at the top of the menu and go straight down till you’ve had enough.”
“That will make up for everything. And now don’t you think you ought to be going to bed? You’ll be losing all that color you got on the ship.”
“Soon. Not just yet. I haven’t seen you for such ages.” She pointed at the bull-terrier. “Look at Tommy, standing there and staring. He can’t believe I’ve really come back. Father, there was a man on the Mauretania with eyes exactly like Tommy’s—all brown and bright—and he used to stand and stare just like Tommy’s doing.”
“If I had been there,” said her father wrathfully, “I’d have knocked his head off.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because I’m sure he was really a very nice young man. He had a chin rather like yours, father. Besides, you couldn’t have got at him to knock his head off, because he was travelling second-class.”
“Second-class? Then you didn’t talk with him?”
“We couldn’t. You wouldn’t expect him to shout at me across the railing! Only whenever I walked round the deck he seemed to be there.”