Then every day Mrs Griffith made a point of going to the door herself for the letters. Two more came from Daisy.
'I know it's not you; it's mother and George. They've always hated me. Oh, don't be so cruel, father! You don't know what I've gone through. I've cried and cried till I thought I should die. For God's sake write to me! They might let you write just once. I'm alone all day, day after day, and I think I shall go mad. You might take me back; I'm sure I've suffered enough, and you wouldn't know me now, I'm so changed. Tell mother that if she'll only forgive me I'll be quite different. I'll do the housework and anything she tells me. I'll be a servant to you, and you can send the girl away. If you knew how I repent! Do forgive me and have me back. Oh, I know that no one would speak to me; but I don't care about that, if I can only be with you!'
'She doesn't think about us,' said George—'what we should do if she was back. No one would speak to us either.'
But the next letter said that she couldn't bear the terrible silence; if her father didn't write she'd come down to Blackstable. Mrs Griffith was furious.
'I'd shut the door in her face; I wonder how she can dare to come.'
'It's jolly awkward,' said George. 'Supposing father found out we'd kept back the letters?'
'It was for his own good,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'I'm not ashamed of what I've done, and I'll tell him so to his face if he says anything to me.'
'Well, it is awkward. You know what father is; if he saw her.'...
Mrs Griffith paused a moment.
'You must go up and see her, George!'