'I'd sooner go to the workhouse; I'll never touch a penny of hers!'
'Now then, father,' said Mrs Griffith, quickly understanding, 'you drop that, you'll have to.'
George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper; a look of horror came over his face.
'Go on! don't be a fool!' said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to him.
Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling.
'Dear Daisy,' she began.
'Father always used to call her Daisy darling,' said George; 'he'd better put that so as to bring back old times.'
They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to hear.
'Very well,' replied Edith, and she began again; the old man wrote bewilderedly, as if he were asleep. 'Daisy Darling,— ... Forgive me!... I have been hard and cruel towards you.... On my knees I beg your forgiveness.... The business has gone wrong ... and I am ruined.... If you don't help me ... we shall have the brokers in ... and have to go to the workhouse.... For God's sake ... have mercy on me! You can't let me starve.... I know I have sinned towards you.—Your broken-hearted ... Father.'
She read through the letter. 'I think that'll do; now the envelope,' and she dictated the address.