er? Did
she want him to care? A strange friendly feeling stole about her heart.
She was not alone then, after all. Some one wanted her, wanted her so
obviously that every one had noticed it--did not want her as Martin had
wanted her, against his own will and judgment. If he did offer her his
home what would she feel?

There was rest there, rest and a real home, a home that she had never
in all her life known. Of course she did not love him in the least. His
approach did not make her pulses beat a moment faster, she did not long
for him to come when he was not there--but he wanted her! That was the
great thing. He wanted her!

"Of course if he asked you, you wouldn't really think of marrying him?"
said Millicent.

"I don't know," said Maggie slowly.

"What! Marry him and live in Skeaton!" Millicent was frankly amazed.
"Why, Skeaton's awful, and the people in it are awful, and Grace is
awful. In the summer it's all nigger-minstrels and bathing-tents, and
in the winter there isn't a soul--" Millicent shivered.

Maggie smiled. "Of course it seems dull to you, but my life's been very
different. It hasn't been very exciting, and if I could really help
him--" she broke off. "I do like him," she said. "He's the kindest man
I've ever met. Of course he seems dull to you who have met all kinds of
brilliant people. I hate brilliant people."

The car was in Bryanston Square. Just before it stopped Millie bent
over and kissed Maggie.

"I think you're a darling," she said.

But Millie didn't think Maggie "a darling" for long--that is, she did
not think about her at all for long; none of the family did.

So quiet was Maggie, so little in any one's way that, at the end of a
fortnight, she made no difference to any one in the house. She was much
better now, looking a different person, colour in her cheeks and light
in her eyes. During her illness they had cut her hair and this made her
look more than ever like a boy. She wore her plain dark dresses, black
and dark blue; they never quite fitted and, with her queer odd face,
her high forehead, rather awkward mouth, and grave questioning eyes she
gave you the impression that she had been hurried into some disguise
and was wearing it with discomfort but amusement. Some one who met her
at the Trenchards at this time said of her: "What a funny girl! She's
like a schoolboy dressed up to play a part in the school speeches." Of
course she was not playing a part, no one could have been