"William Magnus." . . . Then--why, of course! Mr. Magnus! She saw
him standing looking down at her with his mild eyes, staring through
his large spectacles.
Her heart beat furiously. She waited until breakfast was over, then
she took it up to her bedroom.
The letter was as follows:
Dear Miss Maggie,
I know you are not "Miss Maggie" now, but that is the only way that
I can think of you. I expect that you have quite forgotten me, and
perhaps you don't want to hear from me, but I must not lose sight of
you altogether. I haven't so many friends that I can lose one
without a word. I don't know quite what to begin by telling you. I
ought to ask you questions about yourself, I suppose, but I know
that your aunts hear from you from time to time and they give me
news from your letters. I hear that you are happily married and are
quite settled down to your new life. I'm very glad to hear that,
although it isn't quite the life that I would have prophesied for
you. Do you like Skeaton? I've never cared much for seaside resorts
myself, but then I'm a queer cranky old man, and I deserve all I
get.
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