Lucy had arranged a charming plan, which had made her quite content with Stephen’s refusal to go in the boat. She discovered that her father was to drive to Lindum this morning at ten; Lindum was the very place she wanted to go to, to make purchases,—important purchases, which must by no means be put off to another opportunity; and aunt Tulliver must go too, because she was concerned in some of the purchases.
“You will have your row in the boat just the same, you know,” she said to Maggie when they went out of the breakfast-room and upstairs together; “Philip will be here at half-past ten, and it is a delicious morning. Now don’t say a word against it, you dear dolorous thing. What is the use of my being a fairy godmother, if you set your face against all the wonders I work for you? Don’t think of awful cousin Tom; you may disobey him a little.”
Maggie did not persist in objecting. She was almost glad of the plan, for perhaps it would bring her some strength and calmness to be alone with Philip again; it was like revisiting the scene of a quieter life, in which the very struggles were repose, compared with the daily tumult of the present. She prepared herself for the boat and at half-past ten sat waiting in the drawing-room.
The ring of the door-bell was punctual, and she was thinking with half-sad, affectionate pleasure of the surprise Philip would have in finding that he was to be with her alone, when she distinguished a firm, rapid step across the hall, that was certainly not Philip’s; the door opened, and Stephen Guest entered.
In the first moment they were both too much agitated to speak; for Stephen had learned from the servant that the others were gone out. Maggie had started up and sat down again, with her heart beating violently; and Stephen, throwing down his cap and gloves, came and sat by her in silence. She thought Philip would be coming soon; and with great effort—for she trembled visibly—she rose to go to a distant chair.
“He is not coming,” said Stephen, in a low tone. “I am going in the boat.”
“Oh, we can’t go,” said Maggie, sinking into her chair again. “Lucy did not expect—she would be hurt. Why is not Philip come?”
“He is not well; he asked me to come instead.”
“Lucy is gone to Lindum,” said Maggie, taking off her bonnet with hurried, trembling fingers. “We must not go.”
“Very well,” said Stephen, dreamily, looking at her, as he rested his arm on the back of his chair. “Then we’ll stay here.”