"Maggie!"
"Jack!"
Yes, Jack had come; and I do think it was not altogether tears of joy that his sister was now shedding. In fact, that fit of weeping did Maggie a deal of good. She had had much need of it before now, but never any excuse to indulge in so sweet an extravagance.
"Come into our drawing-room, Jack," she said at last; "and you also, Dr. Reikie. We are no strangers, you know, doctor; I have heard so much about you."
"Drawing-room!" thought Jack. "Why, sister must be better off than I had imagined. I wonder if she has a Turkey carpet and a piano."
They went upstairs. A big deal door opened into a portion of the corridor partitioned off, and used as a kind of omniorum storehouse. A curtain was now pulled back, and lo! Jack and Reikie found themselves in Maggie's drawing-room.
A rickety old table, surely on its last legs, bales and boxes and barrels, did duty as seats and furniture; but there was a sofa, and to this Maggie pointed, and Jack and Reikie sat down, and felt as if they had come to anchor on a bagful of broken saucepans.
But there was a delightful window to this room, looking away over the dark-blue Sea of Marmora.
"This is Sister Mary," said Maggie, introducing a tall, dark lady, who was sitting in a corner busily mending a pair of soldier's stockings.
Mary bowed and smiled, and would have left the room had Maggie permitted her, which she would not.