THE Corporal even at his best was not a great hand at writing letters. And the series he wrote from France did not flatter his powers. Really they told hardly anything and that which they did tell might have been far more vividly rendered. Still in the eyes of Melia they were precious; and they did something to soften months of loneliness and toil.

One other gleam there was in that sore time; a fitful one, no doubt, and the ray it cast upon her life so dubious, that, all things considered, it meant small comfort. Yet, perhaps, it may have been wrong not to accept this doubtful boon more gratefully.

One morning, about a fortnight after Bill’s departure for France, her father paid one of his periodical visits to Love Lane. Since W. Hollis Fruiterer had taken a turn for the better he was content with a monthly survey instead of a weekly one in order to assure himself that the enterprise was shipshape and its affairs in order.

Melia’s reception of her father was invariably cool. She had a proud, unyielding nature, and Josiah’s tardy concession to the sternness of the times even if it had thawed the ice a little had not really melted it. Neither was quite at ease in the presence of the other; in both was a smoldering resentment and the spirit of unforgiveness.

The books, on inspection, proved to be in very fair order. They were carefully and neatly kept and, in comparison with the state of affairs before a business man came on the scene to direct them, they showed a refreshing change for the better. The accounts had been made up to the half year. And as a result of eight months trading under new conditions there was a clear profit of forty-five pounds after a full allowance for expenses.

Josiah expressed himself well satisfied. In common with the great majority of his race, material success was the shrine at which he worshiped. Success in this case, moreover, was doubly gratifying; it lent point to his own foresight and judgment and it exhibited a latent capacity in his eldest daughter. Time alone would be able to disperse the bitterness he cherished against her in his heart, but it did him good to feel that she was not wholly a fool and that in some quite important particulars she was a chip of the old block.

He congratulated her solemnly in the manner of a Chairman of Directors addressing a General Manager and hoped she would go on as she had begun. Resentful as she still was, she was secretly flattered by the compliment; and she hastened to offer to repay the sum he had advanced for the satisfaction of the former creditors.

“Let it stand over,” he said, “until your position’s a bit firmer.”

She insisted, but he was not to be shaken; and then, as was his way when at a loss for an argument, he gave the contest of wills a new, unexpected turn. “Doing anything particular Sunday afternoon?”

No, she was not doing a thing particular.

“Better come up home and have a cup of tea with us.” Then in a tone less impersonal: “Your mother would like to see you.”

The blood rushed over Melia’s face. At first she feigned not to hear, but that did not help her. Dignity had many demands to make, but the brusque insistence of this father of hers seemed to cut away the ground on which it stood.

“Say what time and I’ll send the car for you.“

The tone was so final that anything she could raise in the way of protest seemed weakly ridiculous. But the car for her! She didn’t want the car and she mustered force enough to say so.

“Might as well have it. Doing nothing Sunday. Save you a climb up the hill this hot weather.”

Of one thing, however, she was quite sure. She didn’t want the car. This recent and remarkable expression of her father’s wealth and ever-growing social importance had taken the form of a superb motor and a smart lady chauffeur in the neatest of green liveries which already she had happened to see on two occasions in Waterloo Square. No, such a vehicle was not for her; and she contrived to say so with the bluntness demanded by the circumstances, yet tempered a little by a certain regard for anything her father might be able to muster in the way of feelings.

“Might as well make use of it,” he said. “Eating its head off Sunday afternoon.”

But she remained quite firm. The car was not for her.

“Well, it’s there for you if you want it.” His air was majestic. “Better pay that money into the bank. And I shall tell your mother to expect you Sunday tea time.”

It was left at that. He had gained both his points. The third was subsidiary; it didn’t matter. All the same it was like Josiah to raise it as a cover for those that did.

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