"Didn't you?" said Laurie.
Maggie was silent.
"Didn't you?"
"Well--yes I did. But I don't want to any more."
Laurie smiled so that it might be seen.
"Well, what else did you want to say?" He glanced purposely at the book. Maggie ignored his glance.
"I just came to see how you were getting on."
"How do you mean? With the book?"
"No; in every way."
He looked up at her swiftly and suddenly, and she saw that his agony of sorrow was acute beneath all his attempts at superiority, his courteous fractiousness, and his set face. She was filled suddenly with an enormous pity.
"Oh! Laurie, I'm so sorry," she cried out. "Can't I do anything?"
"Nothing, thanks; nothing at all," he said quietly.
Again pity and misery surged up within her, and she cast all prudence to the winds. She had not realized how fond she was of this boy till she saw once more that look in his eyes.
"Oh! Laurie, you know I didn't like it; but--but I don't know what to do, I'm so sorry. But don't spoil it all," she said wildly, hardly knowing what she feared.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know what I mean. Don't spoil it, by--by fancying things."
"Maggie," said the boy quietly, "you must let me alone. You can't help."
"Can't I?"
"You can't help," he repeated. "I must go my own way. Please don't say any more. I can't stand it."
There followed a dead silence. Then Maggie recovered and stood up. He rose with her.
"Forgive me, Laurie, won't you? I must say this. You'll remember I'll always do anything I can, won't you?"
Then she was gone.
IV The ladies went to bed early at Stantons. At ten o'clock precisely a clinking of bedroom candlesticks was heard in the hall, followed by the sound of locking doors. This was the signal. Mrs. Baxter laid aside her embroidery with the punctuality of a religious at the sound of a bell, and said two words-"My dears."
There were occasionally exclamatory expostulations from the two at the piquet-table, but in nine cases out of ten the game had been designed with an eye upon the clock, and hardly any delay followed. Mrs. Baxter kissed her son, and passed her arm through Maggie's. Laurie followed; gave them candles, and generally took one himself.
But this evening there was no piquet. Laurie had stayed later than usual in the dining-room, and had wandered rather restlessly about when he had joined the others. He looked at a London evening paper for a little, paced about, vanished again, and only returned as the ladies were making ready to depart. Then he gave them their candlesticks, and himself came back to the drawing room.