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.
Pages:
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393