for
them, she felt, in some mysterious way, that trouble was coming.

"Yes, we'll have our matinee," she said.

It was a terrific excitement for her, apart altogether from her love
for Martin. She had, of course, never been to a theatre. She could not
imagine in the least what it was like. It so happened, by a wonderful
chance, that a note came from Katherine Mark asking her to tea. She
showed this to the aunts and said that she would accept it. She wrote
to Katherine Mark and refused and told Martin that for that Wednesday
afternoon she was quite free until at least seven o'clock. She wove
these deceits with strong disgust. She hated the lies, and there were
many, many times when she was on the edge of confessing everything to
the aunts. But the thought of what would follow that confession held
her back. She could not make things harder for Martin.

Nevertheless she wondered why when she felt, in herself, no shame al
all at the things that she was doing, she should have to lie to cover
those things up. But everything in connection with the Chapel seemed to
lie.--The place was wrapped in intrigue and double-dealing. How long
would it be before she and Martin were out of it all?

She was to meet him by one of the lions in Trafalgar Square. She bought
a golden chrysanthemum which she stuck into the belt of her black dress
and she wore her coral necklace. She was tired of black. She sometimes
thought she would spend all her Three Hundred Pounds on clothes ...
To-day, as soon as she was out of the house and had turned the corner
into King William Street, she slipped on her ring. She kissed it before
she put her glove on. He was waiting there looking like a happy
schoolboy, that way that she loved him to look. That slow crooked smile
of his, something that broke up his whole face into geniality and
friendliness, how she adored him when he looked like that! He was
wearing clothes of some rough red-brown stuff and a black knitted tie--

She was carrying something, a little parcel in tissue paper. She
pressed it into his hand when they met. He opened it, just like a boy,
chuckling, his eyes shining, his fingers tearing the paper in his
eagerness. Her present was a round locket of thin plain gold and inside
was the funniest little black faded photograph of Maggie, her head
only, a wild untidy head of hair, a fat round schoolgirl face--a
village snapshot of Maggie taken in St. Dreot's when she was about
fifteen.

"It's al