As she had foretold, laziness settled upon Paul.What he loved best was to sink into his old armchair in the dusty study and read old volumes of Temple Bar and the Cornhill.He had them piled at his side; he read article after article about such subjects as "The Silkworm Industry" and "Street Signs of the Eighteenth Century." He was very proud of his sermons, but now he seldom gave a new one.He always intended to."Don't let any one disturb me to-night, Maggie,"he would say at supper on Fridays."I've got my sermon." But on entering the study he remembered that there was an article in Temple Bar that he must finish.He also read the Church Times right through, including the advertisements.Grace gradually resumed her old functions.
She maintained, however, an elaborate pretence of leaving everything to Maggie.Especially was she delighted when Maggie forgot something.When that happened she said nothing; her mouth curled a little.She treated Maggie less and less to her garrulous confidences.They would sit for hours in the drawing-room together without exchanging a word.Maggie and Paul had now different bedrooms.Early in the autumn Maggie had a little note from Mr.
Magnus.It said:
"You have not written to any of us for months.Won't you come just for a night to see your aunts? At least let us know that you are happy."She cried that night in bed, squeezing her head into the pillow so that no one should hear her.She seemed to have lost all her pluck.
She must do something, but what? She did not know how to deal with people.If they were kind and friendly there were so many things that she could do, but this silent creeping away from her paralysed her.She remembered how she had said to Katherine: "No one can make me unhappy if I do not wish it to be." Now she did not dare to think how unhappy she was.She knew that they all thought her strange and odd, and she felt that strangeness creeping upon her.She MUST be odd if many people thought her so.She became terribly self-conscious, wondering whether her words and movements were strange.
She was often so tired that she could not drag one foot after another.
A few weeks before Christmas something happened.A terrible thing, perhaps--but she was delivered by it...
She was sitting one afternoon a few weeks before Christmas in the drawing-room alone with Grace.It was her "At Home" day, a Friday afternoon.Grace was knitting a grey stocking, a long one that curled on her lap.She knitted badly, clumsily, twisting her fingers into odd shapes and muddling her needles.Now and then she would look up as though she meant to talk, and then remembering that it was Maggie who was opposite to her she would purse her lips and look down again.The fire hummed and sputtered, the clock ticked, and Grace breathed in heavy despairing pants over the difficulties of her work.The door opened and the little maid, her eyes nervously wandering towards Grace, murmured, "Mr.Cardinal, mum."The next thing of which Maggie was conscious was Uncle Mathew standing clumsily just inside the door shifting his bowler hat between his two hands.
The relief of seeing him was so great that she jumped up and ran towards him crying, "Oh, Uncle Mathew! I'm so glad! At last!"He dropped his bowler in giving her his hand.She noticed at once that he was looking very unhappy and had terribly run to seed.
He was badly shaved, his blue suit was shabby and soiled.He was fatter, and his whole body was flabby and uncared for.Maggie saw at once that he had been drinking, not very much, but enough to make him a little uncertain on his feet and unsteady in his gaze.Maggie, when she saw him, felt nothing but a rush of pity and desire to protect him.Very strangely she felt the similarity between him and herself.Nobody wanted either of them--they must just love one another because there was no one else to love them.
She was aware then that Grace had risen and was standing looking at them both.
She turned round to her saying, "Grace, this is my uncle.You've heard me speak of him, haven't you? He was very kind to me when Iwas a little girl...Uncle, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Trenchard."Uncle Mathew smiled and, rather unsteadily, came forward; he caught her hand in both his damp, hot ones."Very pleased to meet you, Miss Trenchard.I know you've been very good to my little Maggie; at least when I say 'my little Maggie' she's not mine any longer.She belongs to your brother now, doesn't she? Of course she does.I hope you're well."Maggie realised then the terrified distress in Grace's eyes.The grey stocking had fallen to the ground, and Grace stared at Uncle Mathew in a kind of fascinated horror.She realised of course at once that he was what she would call "tipsy." He was not "tipsy,"but nevertheless "tipsy" enough for Grace.Maggie saw her take in every detail of his appearance--his unshaven cheeks, the wisps of hair over the bald top of his head, the spots on his waistcoat, the mud on his boots, and again as she watched Grace make this summary, love and protection for that unhappy man filled her heart.For unhappy he was! She saw at once that he had had a long slide downhill since his last visit to her.He was frightened--frightened immediately now of Grace and the room and the physical world--but frightened also behind these things at some spectre all his own.
Grace sat down and tried to recover herself.She began to talk in her society voice.Maggie knew that she was praying, over and over again, with a monotony possible only to the very stupid, that there would be no callers that afternoon.
