"All right," he said. "Only I feel
somehow . . . I feel as though our time had come to an end." "But it
shan't?" He turned upon her fiercely, held her hands, looked in her
face. "Maggie, do you swear that you'll love me always, whatever I
am, whatever I do?" "I swear," she answered, gazing into his eyes,"
that I'll love you always, whatever you are, whatever you do." Then
she went away, leaving him by the table, staring after her. In the
street she saw that her chrysanthemum was in pieces, torn and
scattered and destroyed. She slipped off the ring and put it into
her pocket, then, with forebodings in her heart, as though she did
indeed know that her good time was over, she turned towards home.
She was right. Her good time was over. That night she was left
alone. Martha let her in and, regarding her darkly, said nothing.
The aunts also said nothing, sitting all the evening under the green
shade of the lamp in the drawing-room, Aunt Anne reading a pamphlet,
Aunt Elizabeth sewing. Maggie pretended to read but she saw no
words. She saw only the green lamp like a dreadful bird suspended
there and Aunt Anne's chiselled sanctity.
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