"Older! Why, centuries!"
"You don't look a day," he said, smiling at her.
"That's my short hair," she answered, smiling back at him, "and not being able to wear my clothes like a grown woman. It's a fact that I can't get used to long skirts, and in Skeaton it's bad form to cross your knees. I try and remember—" she sighed. "The truth is I forget everything just as I used to."
"How is Aunt?" she asked him. He looked very grave, and behind his smiles and welcome to her she saw that he was a tired and even exhausted man.
"They don't think she can live through the night," he answered her, "but, thank God, she's out of all pain and will never suffer any more. She's tranquil in her mind too, and the one thing she wanted to put her quiet was to see you. She's been worrying about you for months. Why didn't you come up to see us all this time, Maggie? That wasn't kind of you."
"No, it wasn't," said Maggie. "But I didn't dare."
"Didn't dare?" he asked, astonished.
"No, there were things all this would have reminded me of too badly. It wasn't safe to be reminded of them."
"Haven't you been happy, then, there?" he asked her almost in a whisper.
"Oh, I don't know," she didn't look up at him. "I made a mistake in doing it. It was my fault, not theirs. No, I haven't been happy if you want to know. And I shan't be. There's no chance. It's all wrong; they all hate me. I seem to them odd, mad, like a witch they used to burn in the old days. And I can't alter myself. And I don't want to."