More than ever before she realised how far
Katherine Mark was from the world in which she, Maggie, had during
all these months been living. Katherine Mark was Real--Real in her
beautiful quiet clothes, in her assurance, her ease, the sense that
she gave that she knew life and love and business and all the
affairs of men at first hand, not only seen through a mist of
superstition and ignorance, or indeed not seen at all.
"This is what I want," something in Maggie called to her.
"This will make me busy and quiet and sensible--at last--"
When Katherine Mark sat down and took her hand for a moment, smiling
at her in the kindliest way, Maggie felt as though she had known her
all her life.
"Oh! I'm so glad you've come!" she cried spontaneously; and then, as
though she felt she'd gone too far, she blushed and drew back.
But Katherine held her hand fast.
"I wrote," she said, "some weeks ago to you, and your aunt answered
the letter saying you were very ill. Then, as I heard nothing of
you, I was anxious and came to see what had happened. You've not
kept your word, Maggie, you know. We were to have been great
friends, and you've never been near me.
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