You haven't seen our boy, Tim, yet--one and a half--and there
are so many things I want to show you. Will you count yourself a
friend of the house?"
Maggie blushed and twisted her hands together.
"You're very good," she said, "but . . . I don't know . . . perhaps
you won't like me, or what I do."
"I do like you," said Katherine. "And if I like any one I don't care
what they do."
"All the same," said Maggie, "I don't belong . . . to your world,
your life. I should shock you, I know. You might be sorry afterwards
that you knew me. Supposing I broke away . . ."
"But I broke away myself," said Katherine, "it is sometimes the only
thing to do. I made my mother, who had been goodness itself to me,
desperately unhappy."
"Why did you do that?" asked Maggie.
"Because I wanted to marry my husband."
"Well, I love a man too," said Maggie.
"Oh, I do hope you'll be happy!" said Katherine. "As happy as I am."
"No," said Maggie, shaking her head, "I don't expect to be happy."
She seemed to herself as she said that to be hundreds of miles away
from Katherine Mark and her easy life, the purple curtains and her
amber light.
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