She had not realised that in
London. Grace had seemed harmless there and unimportant. Already
here in Skeaton she seemed to stand for a whole scheme of life.
Maggie had moved and altered a good many of the things in the house.
She had discovered a small attic, and into this she had piled pell-
mell a number of photographs, cheap reproductions, cushions, worsted
mats, and china ornaments. She had done it gaily and with a sense of
clearing the air.
Now as Grace's hour approached she was not so sure.
"Well, I'm not afraid," she reassured herself with her favourite
defiance. "She can't eat me. And it's my house."
Paul had not noticed the alterations. He was always blind to his
surroundings unless they were what he called "queer."
There was the rattle of the cab-wheels on the drive and a moment
later Grace was in the hall.
"Dear Paul--Maggie, dear . . ."
She stood there, a very solid and assured figure. She was square and
thick and reminded Maggie to-day of Mrs. Noah; her clothes stood cut
out around her as though they had been cut in wood. She had her
large amiable smile, and the kiss that she gave Maggie was a wet,
soft, and very friendly one.
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