Her fingers caught tightly about
Paul's stout arm, but she would have been more at home she thought
with Uncle Mathew just then.
It was a nice bright spring day, although the wind blew the dust
about. They had a meal in Katherine's house and some one made a
speech, and Maggie drank some champagne. She hoped she looked nice
in her grey silk dress, and then caught sight of herself in a glass
and thought she was as ever a fright.
"My little wild thing--mine now," whispered Paul. She thought that
rather silly; she was not a wild thing, but simply Maggie Cardinal.
Oh, no! Maggie Trenchard . . . She did not feel Maggie Trenchard at
all and she did not suppose that she ever would.
They were to have a fortnight alone at Skeaton before Grace came.
Maggie was glad of that. Paul was really nicer when Grace was not
there.
They were all very kind to her. They had given her good presents--
Millie some silver brushes, Henry some books, Philip a fan, and
Katherine a most beautiful dressing-bag. Maggie had never had such
things before. But she could have wished for something from her own
people. She had written to Uncle Mathew but had not heard from him.
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