aid: "Brr. You horrid thing! I hate you!" and instantly the two fiery
eyes had vanished, but now in their place the whole house seemed to be
watching, so silent and attentive was it--and the odour of damp
biscuits and wet umbrellas seemed to be everywhere.

Just then old Martha came out with a lamp in her hand, and standing
upon a chair, lit the great ugly gas over the middle of the door.

"Why, Miss Maggie," she said in her soft, surprised whisper, looking as
she always did, beyond the girl, into darkness.

"I've been out," said Maggie, defiantly.

"Not all alone, miss?"

"All alone," said Maggie. "Why not? I can look after myself."

"Well, there's your uncle waiting in the drawing-room--just come," said
the old woman, climbing down from the chair with that silent
imperturbable discontent that always frightened Maggie.

"Uncle Mathew! Here! in this house!" Maggie, even in the moment of her
first astonishment, was amazed at her own delight. That she should ever
feel THAT about Uncle Mathew! Truly it showed how unhappy she had been,
and she ran upstairs, two steps at a time, and pushed back the
drawing-room door.

"Uncle Mathew!" she cried.

Then at the sight of him she stood where she was. The man who faced
her, with all his old confusion of nervousness and uneasy geniality,
was, indeed, Uncle Mathew, but Uncle Mathew glorified, shabbily
glorified and at the same time a little abashed as though she had
caught him in the act of laying a mine that would blow up the whole
house. He was wearing finer clothes than she had ever seen him in
before--a frock coat, quite new but fitting him badly, so that it was
buttoned too tightly across his stomach and loose across the back. He
had a white flower in his button-hole, and a rather soiled white
handkerchief protruded from his breast-pocket. One leg of his dark grey
trousers had been creased in two places, and there were little spots of
blood on his high white collar because he had cut himself shaving. His
complexion was of the same old suppressed purple, but his little eyes
were bright and shining and active; they danced towards Maggie. His
scanty locks had been carefully brushed over his bald head, and his
hands, although they were still puffed and swollen, were whiter than
Maggie had ever seen them.

But it was in the end his attitude of confused defiance that made her
pause. What had he been doing, or what did he intend to do? He was
prosperous, she could see, and