ooked in her
face. "Maggie, do you swear that you'll love me always, whatever I am,
whatever I do?" "I swear," she answered, gazing into his eyes, "that
I'll love you always, whatever you are, whatever you do." Then she went
away, leaving him by the table, staring after her. In the street she
saw that her chrysanthemum was in pieces, torn and scattered and
destroyed. She slipped off the ring and put it into her pocket, then,
with forebodings in her heart, as though she did indeed know that her
good time was over, she turned towards home. She was right. Her good
time was over. That night she was left alone. Martha let her in and,
regarding her darkly, said nothing. The aunts also said nothing,
sitting all the evening under the green shade of the lamp in the
drawing-room, Aunt Anne reading a pamphlet, Aunt Elizabeth sewing.
Maggie pretended to read but she saw no words. She saw only the green
lamp like a dreadful bird suspended there and Aunt Anne's chiselled
sanctity. Over and over again she reasoned with herself. There was no
cause for panic. Nothing had happened to change things--and yet--and
yet everything was changed. Everything had been changed from that
moment when Martin pressed her hand in the theatre. Everything! ...
Danger now of every sort. She could be brave, she could meet anything
if she were only sure of Martin. But he too seemed strange to her. She
remembered his dark look, his frown when she had refused him. Oh, this
loneliness, this helplessness. If she could be with him, beside him,
she would fear nothing. That night, the first faint suspicion of
jealousy, of doubt, an agonising dart of pain at the knowledge of what
it would mean to her now if he left her, stirred in her breast. This
room was stifling. She got up from her chair, went to the window,
looked out between the thick curtains at the dark deserted street.
"What is it, Maggie?" "Nothing, Aunt Anne." "You're very restless,
dear." "It's close. May I open the door?" "A little, dear." She opened
the door and then sat there hearing the Armed Men sway ever so
slightly, tap, tap, against the wall in the passage. That night she
scarcely slept at all, only tumbling into sudden nightmare dreams when
something had her by the throat and Martin was not there. In the
morning as soon as she could escape she hurried to Piccadilly. Martin
was waiting for her. When she saw him she realised at once that her
good time was indeed over. His face was white and straine