He could see nothing but that. Did she
realise, he asked her, what she was doing? Sinning against all the
laws of God and man. If she persisted in her wickedness she would be
cut off from all decent people. No one could say that he had not
shown her every indulgence, every kindness, every affection. Even
now he was ready to forgive her, but she must come back at once, at
once. Her extreme youth excused much, and both he and Grace realised
it.
Through it all the strain--did she not see what she was doing? How
could she behave so wickedly when she had been given so many
blessings, when she had been shown the happiness of a Christian
home? . . .
It was not a letter to soften Maggie's resolve. She wrote a short
reply saying that she could not come. She thought then that he would
run up to London to fetch her. But he did not. He wrote once more,
and then, for a time, there was silence.
She had little interval in which to think about Paul; Martin soon
compelled her attention. He was well enough now to be up. He would
lie all day, without moving except to take his meals, on the old red
sofa, stretched out there, his arms behind his head, looking at
Maggie with a strange taunting malicious stare as though he were
defying her to stand up to him.
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