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.
'I thought I'd just pop in to ask about dear Daisy. I met Fanning as I
was coming along and he told me you'd had a letter.'
'Oh! Daisy?' Mrs Griffith had understood at once why Miss Reed came, but
she was rather at a loss for an answer.... 'Yes, we have had a letter
from her. She's up in London.'
'Yes, I knew that,' said Miss Reed. 'George Browning saw them get into
the London train, you know.'
Mrs Griffith saw it was no good fencing, but an idea occurred to her.
'Yes, of course her father and I are very distressed about--her eloping
like that.'
'I can quite understand that,' said Miss Reed.
'But it was on account of his family. He didn't want anyone to know
about it till he was married.'
'Oh!' said Miss Reed, raising her eyebrows very high.
'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, 'that's what she said in her letter; they were
married on Saturday at a registry office.'
'But, Mrs Griffith, I'm afraid she's been deceiving you. It's Captain
Hogan.... and he's a married man.'
She could have laughed outright at the look of dismay on Mrs Griffith's
face. The blow was sudden, and notwithstanding all her power of
self-control, Mrs Griffith could not help herself. But at once she
recovered, an angry flush appeared on her cheek bones.
'You don't mean it?' she cried.
'I'm afraid it's quite true,' said Miss Reed, humbly. 'In fact I know it
is.'
'Then she's a lying, deceitful hussy, and she's made a fool of all of
us. I give you my word of honour that she told us she was married; I'll
fetch you the letter.' Mrs Griffith rose from her chair, but Miss Reed
put out a hand to stop her.
'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs Griffith; of course I believe you,' she said,
and Mrs Griffith immediately sat down again.
But she burst into a storm of abuse of Daisy, for her deceitfulness and
wickedness. She vowed she should never forgive her. She assured Miss
Reed again and again that she had known nothing about it. Finally she
burst into a perfect torrent of tears. Miss Reed was mildly sympathetic;
but now she was anxious to get away to impart her news to the rest of
Blackstable. Mrs Griffith sobbed her visitor out of the front door, but,
when she had closed it, dried her tears. She went into the parlour and
flung open the door that led to the back room. Griffith was sitting with
his face hidden in his hands, and every now and then a sob shook his
great frame. George was very pale, biting his nails.
'You heard what she said,' cried Mrs Griffith. 'He's married!' ... She
looked at her husband contemptuously. 'It's all very well for you to
carry on like that now. It was you who did it; it was all your fault. If
she'd been brought up as I wanted her to be, this wouldn't ever have
happened.'
Again there was a knock, and George, going out, ushered in Mrs Gray, the
vicar's wife. She rushed in when she heard the sound of voices.
'Oh, Mrs Griffith, it's dreadful! simply dreadful! Miss Reed has just
told me all about it. What is to be done? And what'll the dissenters
make of it? Oh, dear, it's simply dreadful!'
'You've just come in time, Mrs Gray,' said Mrs Griffith, angrily. 'It's
not my fault, I can tell you that. It's her father who's brought it
about. He would have her go into Tercanbury to be educated, and he would
have her take singing lessons and dancing lessons. The Church school was
good enough for George. It's been Daisy this and Daisy that all through.
Me and George have been always put by for Daisy. I didn't want her
brought up above her station, I can assure you. It's him who would have
her brought up as a lady; and see what's come of it! And he let her
spend any money she liked on her dress.... It wasn't me that let her go
into Tercanbury every day in the week if she wanted to. I knew she was
up to no good. There you see what you've brought her to; it's you who's
disgraced us all!'
She hissed out the words with intense malignity, nearly screaming in the
bitterness she felt towards the beautiful daughter of better education
than herself, almost of different station. It was all but a triumph for
her that this had happened. It brought her daughter down; she turned the
tables, and now, from the superiority of her virtue, she looked down
upon her with utter contempt.