I
warned him. He can't say I didn't warn him," and then (very dim and
far away) "Thank you, Miss Cardinal. I think I will have a glass if
you don't mind." There had been cook crying in the kitchen (her red
roses intended for Sunday must now be postponed) and the maid
sniffing in the hall. There had been Uncle Mathew, muddled and
confused, but clinging to his one idea that "the best thing you can
do, my dear, is to send for your Aunt Anne." There had been the
telegram dispatched to Aunt Anne, and then after that the house had
seemed quite filled with people--ladies who had--wished to know
whether they could help her in any way and even the village butcher
who was there for no reason but stood in the hall rubbing his hands
on his thighs and sniffing. All these persons Maggie surveyed
through a mist. She was calm and collected and empty of all
personality; Maggie Cardinal, the real Maggie Cardinal, was away on
a visit somewhere and would not be back for a time or two.
Then suddenly as the house had filled so suddenly it emptied. Maggie
found that she was desperately tired. She went to bed and slept
instantly.
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