from almost
every villa blew little pennons of white curtains. "They like to have
their windows open any way," she thought. Paul said very little; he was
obviously nervous of how she would take it all. She took it all very
well.

"What pretty houses!" she said. "And here are the shops!"

Only a few--a sweet-shop, a grocer's, a stationer's with "Simpson's
Library" on the door, a post-office.

"The suburbs," said Paul.

What a wind! It rolled up the road like a leaping carpet, you could
almost see its folds and creases. No one about--not a living soul.

"The cab I ordered never came. Lucky thing there was one there," said
Paul.

Not a soul about. Does any one live here? She could not see much
through the window, and she could hear nothing because the glass
rattled so.

"Here we are!" The cab stopped with a jerk. Here they were then. A gate
swung to behind them, there was a little drive with bushes on either
side of it and then the house.

Not a very handsome house, Maggie thought. A dull square grey with
chimneys like ears in exactly the right places. Some pieces of paper
were whirled up and down by the wind, they danced about the horse's
feet. She noticed that the door-handles needed polishing. A cavernous
hall, a young girl with untidy hair and a yelping dog received them.

"That's Mitch!" said Paul. "Dear old Mitch. How are you, dear old
fellow? Down Mitch! Down! There's a good dog."

The young girl was terrified of Maggie. She gulped through her nose.

"I've put tea in the study, sir," she said.

"Tea at once, little woman, eh?" said Paul. "I'm dying for some. Thank
you, Emily. All well? That's right. Dear, dear, It IS nice to be home
again."

Yes, he was nervous, poor Paul. She felt a great tenderness for him,
but she could not say the right words. She should have said: "It is
nice," but it was not. The hall was so cold and dark, and all over the
house windows were rattling.

They went straight into the study. What a room! It reminded Maggie at
once, in its untidiness and discomfort, of her father's, study, and
that thought struck a chill into her very heart, so that she had to
pause for a moment and control herself. There were piles of newspapers
heaped up against the shelves; books run to the ceiling, old, old books
with the covers tumbling off them. On the stone mantelpiece was a
perfect litter--old pipes, bundles of letters, a ball of string, some
yellow photographs, a crucifix and a small plan