She shopped every
morning, feeling very old and grown-up, she went to tea with Mrs.
Constantine and Mrs. Maxse, and she sat on Paul's knee whenever she
thought that he would like her to. She sat on Paul's knee, but that
did not mean that, in real intimacy, they approached any nearer to
one another. During those days they stared at one another like
children on different sides of a fence. They were definitely
postponing settlement, and with every day Maggie grew more restless
and uneasy. She wanted back that old friendly comradeship that there
had been before their marriage. He seemed now to have lost
altogether that attitude to her. Then on the very day of Grace's
return the storm broke. It was tea-time and they were having it, as
usual, in his dusty study. They were sitting someway apart--Paul in
the old leather armchair by the fire, his thick body stretched out,
his cheerful good-humoured face puckered and peevish.
Maggie stood up, looking at him.
"Paul, what's the matter?" she asked.
"Matter," he repeated. "Nothing."
"Oh yes, there is . . . You're cross with me."
"No, I'm not. What an absurd idea!" He moved restlessly, turning
half away, not looking at her.
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