. .
She was sitting one afternoon a few weeks before Christmas in the
drawing-room alone with Grace. It was her "At Home" day, a Friday
afternoon. Grace was knitting a grey stocking, a long one that
curled on her lap. She knitted badly, clumsily, twisting her fingers
into odd shapes and muddling her needles. Now and then she would
look up as though she meant to talk, and then remembering that it
was Maggie who was opposite to her she would purse her lips and look
down again. The fire hummed and sputtered, the clock ticked, and
Grace breathed in heavy despairing pants over the difficulties of
her work. The door opened and the little maid, her eyes nervously
wandering towards Grace, murmured, "Mr. Cardinal, mum."
The next thing of which Maggie was conscious was Uncle Mathew
standing clumsily just inside the door shifting his bowler hat
between his two hands.
The relief of seeing him was so great that she jumped up and ran
towards him crying, "Oh, Uncle Mathew! I'm so glad! At last!"
He dropped his bowler in giving her his hand. She noticed at once
that he was looking very unhappy and had terribly run to seed.
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