The maid smiled and stood aside.And then into what a world she entered! A world of comfort and reassurance, of homeliness and kindliness, without parrots and fierce-eyed cats and swaying pictures of armoured men--a world of urbanity and light and space.
There was a high white staircase with brown etchings in dark frames on the white walls.There was a thick soft carpet and a friendly fat grandfather clock.Many doors but none of them mysterious, all ready to be opened.
She climbed the staircase and was shown into a room high and gaily coloured and full of flowers.She saw the deep curtains, blue silk shot with purple, the chairs of blue silk and a bowl of soft amber light hanging from the ceiling.A mass of gold-red chrysanthemums flamed against the curtains.Several people were gathered round a tea-table near the fire.
She stood lost on the thick purple carpet under the amber light, all too brilliant for her.She had come from a world of darkness, owl-like she must blink before the blaze.Some one came forward to her, some one so kind and comforting, so easy and unsurprised that Maggie suddenly felt herself steadied as though a friend had put an arm around her.Before she had felt: "This light--I am shabby." Now she felt, "I am with friendly people." She was surprised at the way that she was suddenly at her ease.
Mrs.Mark was not beautiful, but she had soft liquid eyes and her hand that held Maggie's was firm and warm and strong.
"Let me introduce you," said Mrs.Mark."That is Miss Trenchard, and that Mr.Trenchard.This is my husband.Philip, this is Miss Cardinal."Miss Trenchard must be forty, Maggie thought.She was plump and thick-set, with a warm smile.Then Mr.Trenchard was a clergyman--he would be stout were he not so broad.His face was red, his hair snowy white, but he did not look old.
He smiled at Maggie as though he had known her all his life.Then there was Mr.Mark, who was stocky and thick, and reminded Maggie of Martin, although his face was quite different, he looked much cleverer and not such a boy; he was not, in fact, a boy at all."I'm sure he thinks too hard," decided Maggie, who had habits of making up her mind at once about people.
"Well, there's no one to be frightened about here," she decided.And indeed there was not! It was as though they had all some especial reason for being nice to her.Perhaps they saw that she was not in her own world here.And yet they did not make her feel that.She drank in the differences with great gulps of appreciation, but it was not they who insisted.
Here were light and colour and space above all--rest.Nothing was about to happen, no threat over their heads that the roof would fall beneath one's feet, that the floor would sink.No sudden catching of the breath at the opening of a door, no hesitation about climbing the stairs, no surveillance by the watching Thomas, no distant clanging of the Chapel bell.How strange they all seemed, looking back from this safe harbour.The aunts, the Warlocks, Thurston, Mr.
Crashaw, Caroline--all of them.There the imagination set fire to every twig--here the imagination was not needed, because everything occurred before your eyes.
She did not figure it all out in so many words at once, but the contrast of the two worlds was there nevertheless.Why had she been so anxious, so nervous, so distressed? There was no need.Had she not known that this other world existed? Perhaps she had not.She must never again forget it...
Katherine Mark was so kind and friendly, her voice so soft and her interest so eager, that Maggie felt that she could tell her anything.But their talk was not to come just yet--first there must be general conversation.
The clergyman with the white hair and the rosy face laughed a great deal in a schoolboy kind of way, and every time that he laughed his sister, who was like a pippin apple with her sunburnt cheeks, looked at him with protecting eyes.
"She looks after him in everything," said Maggie to herself.He was called Paul by them all.
"He's my cousin, you know, Miss Cardinal," said Mrs.Mark."And yet I scarcely ever see him.Isn't it a shame? Grace makes everything so comfortable for him..."Grace smiled, well pleased.
"It's Paul's devotion to his parish..." she said in calm, happy, self-assured voice, as though she'd never had a surprise in her life.
"I'm sure it isn't either of those things," thought Maggie to herself."He's lazy."Lazy but nice.She had never seen a clergyman so healthy, so happy so clean and so kind.She smiled across the table at him.
"Do you know Skeaton?" he asked her.Skeaton! Where had she heard of the place? Why, of course, it was Caroline!
"Only yesterday I heard of it for the first time," she said."Afriend of mine knows some one there."
"Beastly place," said Mr.Mark."Sand always blowing into your eyes."Mr.and Mrs.Trenchard got up to go.
He stood a moment holding Maggie's hand."If ever you come to Skeaton, Miss Cardinal," he said, "we shall be delighted..." His eyes she noticed were light blue like a baby's.She felt that he liked her and would not forget her.
"Come, Paul," said Miss Trenchard, rather sharply Maggie fancied.
Soon afterwards Philip departed."Must finish that beastly thing,"he assured his wife.
"It's an article," Katherine Mark explained."He's always writing about politics.I hate them, so he pretends to hate them too.But he doesn't really.He loves them.""I know nothing about politics," said Maggie with profound truth.
"Your husband must be very clever."
"He's better than that," said Katherine with pride; "I hate perfect people, don't you?""Oh, indeed I do!" said Maggie from the bottom of her heart.They then came to her particular business.
"I would like to get some work to do," said Maggie, "that would make me independent.I have three hundred pounds of my own.""What can you do?" asked Katherine.
"I don't know," said Maggie.
"Can you shorthand and type?"
