But this occasion was different from all the others. When it had happened before, quite the worst part of it had been the loneliness. It had seemed such a terribly desolate world, and she had seen infinite, dreary years stretching before her in which she remained, defenceless and without a friend, at the mercy of his temper. But now that her knight had come she did not mind at all. It would not be long before she escaped altogether, and, in any case, he was there to be sorry for her and comfort her. She would, of course, tell him all about it, because she would tell him everything. She felt no anger against her father. He was like that; she knew what it felt like to be angry, she had screamed and stamped and bit when she was a little girl in just that kind of way. She was rather sorry for him, because she knew he was always sorry afterwards. And then it was such a relief that it was over. The worst part of it was that sickening terror at first, when she did not know what he might do. She set up the table again, collected the pieces of crockery from the floor and carried them into the kitchen. She then wiped up the pool of tea that had dripped on to the carpet. After this she realised that she was hungry, that she had had nothing at all, and she sat down and made a picnicky meal. By the end of it she was humming to herself as though nothing had occurred. Later, she took her work and sat in the window. Her thoughts, as indeed was always the case now, were with Tony. She made up stories for him, imagined what he was doing at the moment and what the people were like to whom he was talking. She still felt sure that he would come and see them that afternoon. Then the door opened, and she knew that her father had returned. She did not turn round, but sat with her back to the door, facing the window. She could see a corner of the street with its shining cobbles, a dark clump of houses, a strip of the sky. The noise of the market came distantly up to her, and some cart rattled round the corner very, very faintly; the sound of the mining-stamp swung like a hammer through the air. She heard him step across the room and stand waiting behind her. She was not afraid of him now; she knew that he had come back to apologise. She hated that as much as the rage, it seemed to hurt just as badly. She bent her head a little lower over her work. “Janet,” he spoke imploringly behind her. “Father!” She turned and smiled up at him. He bent down and kissed her. “Janet! dear, I’m so sorry. I really can’t think why I was angry. You know I do get impatient sometimes, and that man had made me angry by the things he said.” He stood away from her with his head hanging like a child who was waiting to be punished.