"It's been too bad, Maggie, dear; it's simply ages since we had a moment, isn't it, but it hasn't been my fault.Father's been ill--bronchitis--and I've had to help Mother.Father's been so happy, he's just been able to lie in bed for days and think about God.None of those tiresome people at the Bank to interrupt him, and chicken and jelly as much as he liked.He was so unhappy yesterday when he had to go back to work, poor dear...But, Maggie, I hear you were at the service last night.How did you like it?""Like it?" said Maggie."I don't know that it's a thing one likes, exactly.""Doesn't one? I don't know.I'm not one of the Inside Saints, you know, and I wouldn't be if they wanted me to he.But you're one now, they say, and I never would have thought it.You don't look a bit like one, and I shouldn't have dreamt that you'd ever stand that sort of thing.You look so matter-of-fact."Maggie was on the point of bursting out that she was not an Inside Saint, and would never be one, when caution restrained her.She had learnt already that her gay young companion was not as trustworthy as best friends ought to be.
"It was the first time, last night," she said.
"Yes, I know, and Miss Cardinal was ill and had to come away in the middle, didn't she? It must have been a simply awful meeting, because Mother came back as limp as anything.She'd been crying buckets, and has a dreadful headache to-day.I suppose Mr.Crashaw gave it them.I've never heard him, but I've seen him.Horrid old monkey--I hope Miss Cardinal's better to-day.""Yes, thank you," said Maggie."She's better.""Well, that's a good thing.I'm so glad.And you, you darling, what did you think of it all? I'm sure you didn't cry buckets.I can see you sitting there as quiet as anything, like a little Quaker.I'd like to have gone just to have seen you.I hear Martin Warlock was there too.Was he?""He was," said Maggie.
"Fancy that! I wonder what he went for.His father made him, Iexpect.You know they say he's getting on awfully badly at home and that there are quarrels all the time.I don't know, of course, but his sister can't stand him.She's always showing her feelings--not very good taste, I think, but Mr.Thurston eggs her on.They'll be making a match of it one day, those two...I say, Maggie--"Caroline drew her chair close."I'll give you a secret.You won't tell any one, will you?""Certainly not--if you tell me not to," said Maggie.
"Well, Martin Warlock and I--ever since he came back.Oh! I don't say it's anything really.But he's attracted by me and would like to go farther.He'll be asking me to marry him one of these days, and then I'll have fun.He would have done the other day if I'd let him.
I like him rather, don't you? He's getting a bit fat, of course, but he's got nice eyes, and then he's a real man.I like real men.But there, you'll be thinking me coarse, I know you will.I'm not coarse really, only impulsive.You don't like me, honestly, if it were known.Oh no! you don't! I can tell.I always know.But I don't care--I love you.You're a darling--and what I say is if you love some one, just love them.Never mind what they think.Don't you agree with me? But you wouldn't.You wouldn't think of loving anybody.But I'm not really bad--only careless, Mother says--"What Mother said could not be known, because the door opened and Martha announced Mr.Crashaw.The old man, leaning on a walking stick, came forward and greeted Maggie and Caroline with good-temper and amiability.He was indeed in day-time a very mild old man, and it was difficult for Maggie to believe that this was the same who last night had frightened her out of her wits and led her to the edge of such strange suspicions.He was more than ever like a monkey, with his bony brown forehead, protuberant eyes and large mottled nose, and he sat there all huddled up by his rheumatism, a living example of present physical torments rather than future spiritual ones.It was apparent at once that he liked pretty young women, and he paid Caroline a number of flattering attentions, disregarding Maggie with a frankness that witnessed to a life that had taught one lesson at least, never on any occasion to waste time.
Maggie did not mind--it amused her to see her terror of the night before transformed into a mere serenading crippled old gentleman, and to see, too, the excited pleasure with which Caroline accepted even such decayed attentions as these.But what was it that had persuaded her last night? Why did she now spend her time half in one world and half in another? Which world was the real one?
Aunt Anne very soon joined them, and this quiet, composed figure only added to Maggie's scorn of her last night's terrors.Was this the same who had struggled with such agony, who had made Maggie feel that she was caught in a trap and imprisoned for ever?
The sun beat hotly upon the carpet.Caroline's rose-coloured silk shone and glowed, the tea was poured out, and there was chatter about the warm winter that it was and how time passed, and how fashions changed, and how you never saw a four-wheeler now, and what they were turning Kingsway into, and what they were turning the Law Courts out of, and even once, by Mr.Crashaw, a word about the Lyceum Theatre, where some one was playing the Merchant of Venice, which was a fine play and could do no one any harm.
"But I daresay," said Mr.Crashaw, "that this young lady here goes to nothing but plays every night of her life.""Why, Mr.Crashaw," said Caroline, tossing her head."If that's the kind of life you fancy I lead you're completely mistaken.Theatres indeed! Never do I put so much as the tip of my nose inside one.
