Wrapped in cotton wool all his
life, spoilt, indulged, treated by the world as men treat women. His
effeminacy was the result of his training because he had always been
sheltered. Now his contact with Maggie was presenting him for the first
time with Reality. Would he face and grapple with it, or would he slip
away, evade it, and creep back into his padded castle?

The return to Skeaton and the winter that followed it did not answer
that question. Maggie, Grace, and Paul were figures, guarded and
defended, outwardly friendly. Grace behaved during those months very
well, but Maggie knew that this was a fresh sign of hostility. The
"Chut-Chut," "My dear child," and the rest that had been so irritating
had been after all signs of intimacy. They were now withdrawn. Maggie
made herself during that winter and the spring that followed as busy as
possible. She ruthlessly forbade all thoughts of Martin, of the aunts,
of London; she scarcely saw Caroline, and the church was her fortress.
She seemed to be flung from service to service, to be singing in the
choir (she had no voice), asking children their catechism, listening to
Paul's high, rather strained, voice reading the lessons, talking
politely to Mrs. Maxse or one of the numerous girls, knitting and
sewing (always so badly), and above all struggling to remember the
things that she was for ever forgetting. Throughout this period she was
pervaded by the damp, oily smell of the heated church, always too hot,
always too close, always too breathless.

She had many headaches; she liked them because they held back her
temptation to think of forbidden things.

Gradually, although she did not know it, the impression gained ground
that she was "queer." She had not been to the Toms' often, but she was
spoken of as their friend. She had seen Caroline, who was now
considered by the church a most scandalous figure, scarcely at all, but
it was known that she was an old friend. Above all, it was understood
that the rector and his wife were not happy.

"Oh, she's odd--looks more like a boy than a woman. She never says
anything, seems to have no ideas. I don't believe she's religious
really either."

She knew nothing of this. She did not notice that she was not asked
often to other houses. People were kind (the Skeaton people were
neither malicious nor cruel) but left her more and more alone. She said
to herself again and again: "I must make this a success--I must"--but
the words were