Miss Con

by Agnes Giberne

It was very curious to watch Maggie. At first I almost thought her extreme delight must be a little put on. But no: as the evening passed, I became convinced that it was entirely genuine, that in fact, this is the true Maggie. She has evidently reverted at once, and almost instantaneously, from her later to her earlier love. "Millie" has for a time filled the gap in her life: but no gap now exists to be filled. Millie has dropped from the position of necessary prop; Mrs. Romilly and Nellie being at once installed side by side in their old position.

I do not suppose Maggie means to be fickle or unkind. But it is very plain that "Millie" has ceased to be of any importance to Maggie.

For there were no wandering looks after Miss Millington, as Maggie sat on a stool by her mother's side, clasping one of Mrs. Romilly's hands, and gazing up in her face with eyes of sweetest content. It was a look which I have not seen in Maggie's face all these months. Can it be that in her own fashion, she really has suffered far more than I have believed, and has flown to perpetual engagements, tennis and "Millie," as a distraction from loneliness?

I could not but be sorry for Miss Millington, forsaken by her especial ally, and left outside the charmed circle, a forlorn nobody. The children had no eyes for any one but Nellie, and Maggie seemed glued to her Mother. There was in Mrs. Romilly's manner, when she spoke to Miss Millington, a certain slight air of distance and dissatisfaction, which I could not but notice: and Miss Millington plainly felt unhappy under it.

That gave me no pleasure. I am glad to be able to say so honestly. I have not sunk so low as to rejoice in another's pain, even though this "other" has been in a sense my enemy.

Towards me, Mrs. Romilly was all sweetness and affection. She brought me forward, held me lovingly, thanked me again and again for all I had done, bade her husband and Nellie unite their expressions of gratitude, told the girls how dear I was to her. And I—well, I could not but feel her kindness, even while oppressed by it. I had such a stupid longing to slip away from the flow of words, and to be let alone.

Nobody would imagine this evening that Maggie does not like me. She has dropped in the most easy and marvellous manner into her Mother's tone. Instead of glowering or averted glances, I meet softly smiling grey eyes. Instead of rushing off to Millie, she slides her arm quietly through mine, as she stands by her Mother.

Is it genuine?—Or is it assumed? Has she been all these months under an unnatural strain, and in bondage to "Millie," and is this the real Maggie, set free from trammels? Or is she so utterly weak and pliable a character, as to be heart and soul under the dominion of any one present for whom she most cares?

I cannot solve the riddle? I only know that it is shallowness, not depth, which usually results in such a riddle. Lake waters are transparent, while a little pond will be muddy; and nothing is more difficult to see through than mud. But in this mood, Maggie is so lovable, that I can hardly wonder at her Mother's devotion.

At all events, Gertrude Romilly is satisfied. "My Maggie is sweeter than ever," she said, when bidding me good-night; and for her sake, I was pleased that she saw no farther below the surface. I cannot see to the bottom of the pond myself; but, alas! I know there is mud.