o say on the subject and could speak, she assured
Maggie, from a vast variety of experience: "Men are all the same. What
I say is, show them you don't care 'that' about them and they'll come
after you. Not that I care whether they do or no. Only it's fun the way
they go on. You just try, Maggie."

But Maggie had her own thoughts. They were not imparted to her friend.
Nothing indeed appeared to her more odd than that Caroline should be so
wise in some things and so foolish in others. She did not know that it
was her own strange upbringing that gave her independent estimates and
judgments.

The second influence that, during these first weeks, developed her soul
and body was, strangely enough, her aunt's elderly friend, Mr. Magnus.
If Caroline introduced her to affairs of the world, Mr. Magnus
introduced her to affairs of the brain and spirit.

She had never before known any one who might be called "clever." Her
father was not, Uncle Mathew was not; no one in St. Dreots had been
clever. Mr. Magnus, of course, was "clever" because he wrote books, two
a year.

But to be an author, was not a claim to Maggie's admiration. As has
been said before, she did not care for reading, and considered that the
writing of books was a second-rate affair. The things that Mr. Magnus
might have done with his life if he had not spent it in writing books!
She regarded him with the kind indulgence of an elder who watches a
child brick-building. He very quickly discovered her attitude and it
amused him. They became the most excellent friends over it. She on her
side very quickly discovered the true reason of his coming so often to
their house; he loved Aunt Anne. At its first appearance this discovery
was so strange and odd that Maggie refused to indulge it. Love seemed
so far from Aunt Anne. She greeted Mr. Magnus from the chill distance
whence she greeted the rest of the world--she gave him no more than she
gave any one else--But Mr. Magnus did not seem to desire more. He
waited patiently, a slightly ironical and self-contemptuous worshipper
at a shrine that very seldom opened its doors, and never admitted him
to its altar. It was this irony that Maggie liked in him; she regarded
herself in the same way. Their friendship was founded on a mutual
detachment. It prospered exceedingly.

Maggie soon discovered that Mr. Magnus was very happy to sit in their
house even though Aunt Anne was not present. His attitude seemed to be
that the atmosphe