His complexion was of the same old suppressed
purple, but his little eyes were bright and shining and active; they
danced towards Maggie. His scanty locks had been carefully brushed
over his bald head, and his hands, although they were still puffed
and swollen, were whiter than Maggie had ever seen them.
But it was in the end his attitude of confused defiance that made
her pause. What had he been doing, or what did he intend to do? He
was prosperous, she could see, and knowing him as she did, she was
afraid of his prosperity. She had never in her life realised so
clearly as she did now that he was a wicked old man--and still she
was glad to see him. He was an odd enough creature in that room, and
that, she was aware, pleased her.
"Well, my dear," he said very genially, as though they met again
after an hour's parting, "how are you? I'm very glad to see you--
looking so well too. And quite smart. Your aunts dressed you up. I
thought I must look at you. I'm staying just round the corner, and
my first thought was 'I wonder how she's getting on in all that tom-
foolery. You bet she's keeping her head.
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