They had tea in the drawing-room all amongst the squashed strawberries.Three large ferns in crimson pots watched them as they ate.Maggie thought: "Grace seems to have a passion for ferns." She had been terribly nervous before the ladies' arrival--that old nervousness that had made her tremble before Aunt Anne at St.
Dreot's, before the Warlocks, before old Martha.But with it came as always her sense of independence and individuality.
"They can't eat me," she thought.It was obvious at once that they did not want to do anything of the kind.They were full of kindness and curiosity.Mrs.Constantine took the lead, and it was plain that she had been doing this all her life.She was a large black and red woman with clothes that fitted her like a uniform.Her hair was of a raven gleaming blackness, her cheeks were red, her manner so assured and commanding that she seemed to Maggie at once like a policeman directing the traffic.The policeman of Christian Skeaton she was, and it did not take Maggie two minutes to discover that Paul was afraid of her.She had a deep bass voice and a hearty laugh.
"I can understand her," thought Maggie, "and I believe she'll understand me."Very different Miss Purves.If Mrs.Constantine was the policeman of Skeaton, Miss Purves was the town-crier.She rang her bell and announced the news, and also insisted that you should tell her without delay any item of news that you had collected.
In appearance she was like any old maid whose love of gossip has led her to abandon her appearance.She had obviously surrendered the idea of attracting the male, and flung on her clothes--an old black hat, a grey coat and skirt--with a negligence that showed that she cared for worthier things.She gave the impression that there was no time to be lost were one to gather all the things in life worth hearing.
If Mrs.Constantine stood for the police and Miss Purves the town-crier, Mrs.Maxse certainly represented Society.She was dressed beautifully, and she must have been very pretty once.Her hair was now grey, but her cheeks had still a charming bloom.She was delicate and fragile, rustling and scented, with a beautiful string of pearls round her neck (this, in the daytime, Maggie thought very odd), and a large black hat with a sweeping feather.Her voice was a little sad, a little regretful, as though she knew that her beautiful youth was gone and was making the best of what she had.
She told Maggie that "she couldn't help" being an idealist.
"I know it's foolish of me," she said in her gentle voice, smiling her charming smile."They all tell me so.But if life isn't meant to be beautiful, where are we? Everything must have a meaning, mustn't it, Mrs.Trenchard, and however often we fail--and after all we are only human--we must try, try again.I believe in seeing the best in people, because then they live up to that.People are what we make them, don't you think?""The woman's a fool," thought Maggie.Nevertheless, she liked her kindness.She was so strangely driven.She wished to think of Martin always, never to forget him, but at the same time not to think of the life that was connected with him.She must never think of him as some one who might return.Did that once begin all this present life would be impossible--and she meant to make this new existence not only possible but successful.Therefore she was building, so hard as she could, this new house; the walls were rising, the rooms were prepared, every window was barred, the doors were locked, no one from outside should enter, and everything that belonged to it--Paul, Grace, the Church, these women, Skeaton itself, her household duties, the servants, everything and every one was pressed into service.She must have so much to do that she could not think, she must like every one else so much that she could not want any one else--that other world must be kept out, no sound nor sight of it must enter...If even she could forget Martin.What had he said to her."Promise me whatever I am, whatever I do, you will love me always"--and she had promised.Here she was married to Paul and loving Martin more than ever! As she looked at Mrs.Constantine she wondered what she would say did she know that.Nevertheless, she had not deceived Paul...She had told him.She would make this right.
She would force this life to give her what she needed, work and friends and a place in the world.Her face a little white with her struggle to keep her house standing, she turned to her guests.She was afraid that she did not play the hostess very well.She felt as though she were play-acting.She repeated phrases that she had heard Katherine Mark use, and laughed at herself for doing so.She suspected that they thought her very odd, and she fancied that Mrs.
Constantine looked at her short hair with grave suspicion.
Afterwards, when she told Paul this, he was rather uncomfortable.
"It'll soon be long again, dear, won't it?" he said.
"Don't you like it short then?" she asked.
"Of course I like it, but there's no reason to be unusual, is there?
We don't want to seem different from other people, do we, darling?""I don't know," said Maggie."We want to be ourselves.I don't think I shall ever grow my hair long again.It's so much more comfortable like this.""If I ask you, dear," said Paul.
"No, not even if you ask me," she answered, laughing.
She noticed then, for the first time, that he could look sulky like a small school-boy.
"Why, Paul," she said."If you wanted to grow a beard I shouldn't like it, but I shouldn't dream of stopping you.""That's quite different," he answered."I should never dream of growing a beard.Grace won't like it if you look odd.""Grace isn't my teacher," said Maggie with a sudden hot hostility that surprised herself.
She discovered, by the way, very quickly that the three ladies had no very warm feelings for Grace.They showed undisguised pleasure at the thought that Maggie would now be on various Committees instead of her sister-in-law.
"It will be your place, of course, as wife of the vicar," said Mrs.
