Perhaps it would pass.
The long, slow journey tried her father's strength, and assuming an
authority to which he yielded obedience tempered by grumbling, Joan sent
him to bed, and would not let him come down till Christmas Day. The big,
square house was on the outskirts of the town where it was quiet, and in
the afternoon they walked in the garden sheltered behind its high brick
wall.
He told her of what had been done at the works. Arthur's plan had
succeeded. It might not be the last word, but at least it was on the
road to the right end. The men had been brought into it and shared the
management. And the disasters predicted had proved groundless.
"You won't be able to indulge in all your mad schemes," he laughed, "but
there'll be enough to help on a few. And you will be among friends.
Arthur told me he had explained it to you and that you had agreed."
"Yes," she answered. "It was the last time he came to see me in London.
And I could not help feeling a bit jealous. He was doing things while I
was writing and talking. But I was glad he was an Allway.
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