The strangest people. No, Maggie was an orphan. She had
an uncle, Grace believed, and two aunts who belonged to a strange
sect. Sex? No, sect. Very queer altogether.
Mrs. Maxse went home greatly impressed.
"The girl's undoubtedly queer," she told her husband.
"The parson's got a queer sort of wife," Colonel Maxse told his
friends in the Skeaton Conservative Club. "He rescued her from some
odd sort of life in London. No. Don't know what it was exactly.
Always was a bit soft, Trenchard."
Maggie had no idea that Skeaton was discussing her. She judged other
people by herself. Meanwhile something occurred that gave her quite
enough to think about.
She had understood from Grace that it was expected of her that she
should be at home on one afternoon in the week to receive callers.
She thought it a silly thing that she should sit in the ugly
drawing-room waiting for people whom she did not wish to see and who
did not wish to see her, but she was told that it was one of her
duties, and so she would do it. No one, however, had any idea of the
terror with which she anticipated these Friday afternoons.
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