xpecting her to be. She's always been queer. I
used to know her in London.' They do think you odd here, darling. They
do indeed. No one understands you. So odd for a clergyman's wife. Well,
so you are, aren't you? I always tell them you had no bringing up."

Caroline in fact very quickly recovered her flow. As soon as she found
that Maggie was not shocked she reasserted her old superiority. Before
the visit was over she had rather despised Maggie for not being
shocked. At Maggie's departure, however, she was very loving.

"You will come soon again, darling, won't you? It's no use asking you
to dinner because, of course, your husband won't come. But look in any
afternoon--or we might go for a drive in the motor. Good-bye--good-bye."

Maggie, on her return, found Grace looking at the mid-day post in the
hall. She always did this in a very short-sighted way, taking up the
letters one by one, holding each very close to her eyes, and sniffing
at it as though she were trying to read through the envelope. This
always irritated Maggie, although her own letters were not very many.
To-night, when she heard the hall door open, she turned and dropped the
letters, giving that especial creaking little gasp that she always did
when she was startled.

"Oh, it's you, Maggie, is it? Where've you been?"

"I've been to see Mrs. Purdie," Maggie said defiantly.

Grace paused as though she were going to speak, then turned on her
heel. But just as she reached the sitting-room door she said, breathing
heavily:

"There's a telegram for you there."

Maggie saw it lying on the table. She picked it up and hesitated. A
wild beating of the heart told her that it must be from Martin. She
didn't know what told her this except that now for so long she had been
expecting to see a telegram lying in just this way on the table,
waiting for her. She took it up with a hand that trembled. She tore it
open and read:

"Come at once. Your aunt dying. Wishes to see you. Magnus."

No need to ask which aunt. When one aunt was mentioned it was Aunt
Anne--of course. Oh, poor Aunt Anne! Maggie longed for her, longed to
be with her, longed to be kind to her, longed to comfort her. And Mr.
Magnus and Martha and Aunt Elizabeth and the cat--she must go at once,
she must catch a train after luncheon.

She went impetuously into her husband's study.

"Oh, Paul!" she cried. "Aunt Anne's dying, and I must go to her at
once."

Paul was sitting in his old armchair