Yours sincerely,
KATHERINE MARK. "You've got a letter, dear. Your aunt isn't quite so well this morning, I'm afraid. Scrambled eggs."
"Yes," she looked her aunt in the face without any confusion. How strangely her decision about Martin had altered her relationship now to every one! What did it matter whether any one were angry? "I ought to have told you, Aunt Elizabeth. I wrote about a fortnight ago to a lady who came once to see us at home. She was a Miss Trenchard then. She said that if ever I wanted any help I was to write to her. So I have written—to ask her whether she can find me any work to do, and she has asked me to go and see her."
"Work," said Aunt Elizabeth. "But you won't go away while your aunt's so ill."
Wouldn't she? Maggie didn't know so much about that.
"I want to be independent," said Maggie, trying to fix Aunt Elizabeth's eyes. "It isn't fair that I should be a burden to you."
"You're no burden, dear." Aunt Elizabeth looked uneasily round the room. "Your aunt depends on you."
"Depends on me for what?"
"For everything."
"Then she oughtn't to, Aunt Elizabeth, I've said it again and again. I'm not fit for any one to depend on. I'm forgetful and careless and untidy. You know I am. And I'm different from every one here. I'm very grateful to Aunt Anne, but I'm not good enough for her to depend on."