Maggie was frightened. She felt
like a spy in an enemy's camp, and a spy waiting for an inevitable
detection, with no hope of securing any news. As she went up the
aisle behind her aunts her eyes searched for Martin. She could not
see him. Their seat was close to the front, and already seated in it
were the austere Miss Avies and two lady friends.
Maggie was maliciously pleased to observe that Miss Avies had not
expected these additions to her number and was now in danger of an
uncomfortable squashing; there was, indeed, a polite little struggle
between Miss Avies and Aunt Anne as to who should have the corner
with a wooden arm upon which to rest. Miss Avies' two friends,
huddled and frightened like fledglings suddenly surprised by a
cuckoo, stirred Maggie's sympathy. She disliked Miss Avies from the
very first moment. Miss Avies had a pale, thin, pointed face with no
eyebrows, grey eyes dim and short-sighted, and fair colourless hair
brushed straight back under a hard, ugly black hat.
At the same time she was nervous, emotional, restless; something
about her was always moving--her lips, her hands, her shoulders, her
eyes.
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