"You can't stay here.It's impossible.What do you do it for when Itell you I don't want you? First my sister...then you...come here spying.Well, now you're seen what it's like, haven't you? Very jolly, isn't it? Very handsome? You'd better go away again, then.
You've seen all you've wanted to."
"I'm not going away," repeated Maggie, "I didn't come to spy.You know that.Of course you can turn me out, but you'll have to use force.""Oh, no, I won't," he answered."There are other ways."He disappeared into the other room.A moment later he returned; he was wearing a soft black hat and a shabby grey overcoat.
"You'll get tired of waiting, I expect," he said, and, without looking at her but just touching her arm as he brushed past her, he left the room.She heard him descend the stairs.Then the street-door closed.
She sat down upon the shabby red sofa and looked about her.What a horrible room! Its darkness was tainted with a creeping coldness that seemed to steal in wavering gusts from wall to wall.The carpet was faded to a nondescript colour and was gashed into torn strips near the fireplace.No pictures were on the walls from which the wall-paper was peeling.He had done nothing whatever to make it more habitable.
He must have been staying there for several weeks, and yet there were no signs of any personal belongings.Nothing of himself to be seen! Nothing! It was as though in the bitterness of his spirit he had said that he would not touch such a spot save, of necessity, with his body.It should remain, so far as be might go, for ever tenantless.
She felt that.She seemed to be now marvellously perceptive.Until an hour ago she had been lost, ostracised; now she was at home again, clear in purpose, afraid of no one and of nothing.Strangely, although his sickness both of body and soul touched her to the very depths of her being, her predominant sensation was of happiness.She had found him again! Oh, she had found him again! Nothing, in this world or the next, counted in comparison with that.If she were close to him she would make him well, she would make him rich, she would make him happy.Where he had been, what he had done, mattered nothing.Where she had been, what she had done, nothing.Nothing in their two lives counted but their meeting again, and she who had been always so shy and so diffident felt no doubt at all about his returning to her.There would be a fight.As she looked around the gradually darkening room she realised that.It might be a long fight and a difficult one, but that she would win she had no doubt.It had been preordained that she should win.No one on this earth or above it could beat her.
Gradually she became more practical.Slowly she formed her plans.
First, what had Martin done? Perhaps he had told the woman of the house that she, Maggie, was to be turned out, did she not, of herself, go away.No, Martin would not do that.Maggie knew quite confidently that he would never allow any one to insult her.Perhaps Martin would not come back at all.Perhaps his hat and his coat were his only possessions.That was a terrible thought! Had he gone, leaving no trace, how would she ever find him again? She remembered then that he had gone straight downstairs and out of the house.He had not spoken to the landlady.That did not look like a permanent departure.But she would make certain.
She pushed open the other door and peeped into the further room.She saw a dirty unmade bed, a tin washhand stand, and an open carpet-bag filled with soiled linen.No, he would come back.
She sat there thinking out her plans.She was suddenly clear, determined, resourceful, all the things that she had never been in her life before.First she must see the landlady; next she must go to the shops--but suppose he should return while she was there, pack his bag and leave for ever? She must risk that.She thought that he would not return at once because he would want, as he said, "to tire her out." "To tire her out!" She laughed at that.She looked about the room and decided how she would improve it.She nodded to herself.Yes, and the bedroom too.All this time she was so happy that she could scarcely prevent herself from singing aloud.
She went out, down the dark stairs, and found the maid, under a swinging candle-flame, still scrubbing.How strange that in that short space of time, when the whole of life had altered for her, that girl had been on her knees scrubbing!
"Could you tell me, please," she asked, "whether I could see somebody who is in charge of this house--the landlady or--""Is there anything I can do?" said a voice behind her.
She turned to find a short stout woman in voluminous black--black bonnet, black cape, black gloves--watching her with sharp bright eyes.
"Are you the landlady?" Maggie asked.
"I ham," said the woman."Mrs.Brandon--ma'am."The servant-girl had suspended operations, kneeling up and watching with open mouth developments.
"I'm very glad to meet you," said Maggie."How do you do?""How do you do, ma'am?" said Mrs.Brandon.
"The point is just this," said Maggie, speaking rather fast as though she were confused, which she was not."Mr.Warlock is a very old friend of mine and I'm afraid he's very ill indeed.He's very ill and there's nobody to look after him.What I was wondering was whether there was a bedroom in your house that I could have--so that I could look after him, you see, and get him anything he wants."Mrs.Brandon overlooked Maggie from head to foot--very slowly she did it, her eyes passing over the rather shabby black hat, the short hair, the plain black dress, the shoes worn and soiled.She also looked at Maggie's wedding-ring.
"Well, Mrs.--" she began.
"Mrs.Trenchard is my name," said Maggie, blushing in spite of herself at the long scrutiny.
