That lady's
happy unconsciousness that anything had occurred drove the girl into
furious irritation. Well, it was hopeless then, Mr. Magnus could say
what he pleased, her aunt did not care for her--she would not mind
did she fall dead in the street before her. The words in Maggie's
mind were: "You don't look at me. I'm not a human being to you at
all. But I won't live with you. I'll go my own way. You can't keep
me if you never speak to me nor think of me." But in some dark
fashion that strange impassivity held her. Aunt Anne had her
power . . .
They climbed the dim crooked staircase behind the antiquary's wall.
They rang the Warlock bell and were admitted. Maggie did not know
what it was that she had expected, but it was certainly not the
pink, warm room of Mrs. Warlock.
The heavy softly closing door hemmed them in, the silent carpet
folded about their steps; the canary twittered, the fire spurted and
crackled. But at once the girl's heart went out to old Mrs. Warlock;
she looked so charming in her white cap and blue bow, her eyes were
raised so gently to Maggie's face and her little hand was so soft
and warm.
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