As she had foretold, laziness settled upon Paul. What he loved best
was to sink into his old armchair in the dusty study and read old
volumes of Temple Bar and the Cornhill. He had them piled at his
side; he read article after article about such subjects as "The
Silkworm Industry" and "Street Signs of the Eighteenth Century." He
was very proud of his sermons, but now he seldom gave a new one. He
always intended to. "Don't let any one disturb me to-night, Maggie,"
he would say at supper on Fridays. "I've got my sermon." But on
entering the study he remembered that there was an article in Temple
Bar that he must finish. He also read the Church Times right
through, including the advertisements. Grace gradually resumed her
old functions.
She maintained, however, an elaborate pretence of leaving everything
to Maggie. Especially was she delighted when Maggie forgot
something. When that happened she said nothing; her mouth curled a
little. She treated Maggie less and less to her garrulous
confidences. They would sit for hours in the drawing-room together
without exchanging a word. Maggie and Paul had now different
bedrooms.
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