. . Oh, Maggie!" he went on. "Isn't it strange how
easy it is to be good when no one worries you. These last ten days
with you I couldn't have done anything wrong if I tried. It isn't
fair to say we can help ourselves. We can't. Something just comes
along and seizes you and makes you do wrong."
"Oh, I don't know," said Maggie. "Don't let's talk about those
things. It's like Mr. Magnus, who says we're treasure hunters or
pools of water, or old men in asylums. I don't understand all that.
I'm just Maggie Cardinal.--All the same I believe one can do what
one wants to. I don't believe people can make one do things."
"Do you think any one could make me not love you if they tried? I
shall love you always, whatever happens. I know I shall never
change. I'm not one to change. I'm obstinate. Father used to say
'obstinate as a pig.'"
That made her think of the old days at St. Dreot's, just then, as
they seemed, so remote. She began to tell him of those old days, of
the Vicarage, of the holes in the floor and the ceiling, of her
loneliness and the way the villagers used to talk, of her solitary
walks and looking down on to Polchester from the hill-top, of her
father's sudden death, of Uncle Mathew .
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