Maggie naturally expected to add to the numbers of her special adherents her own two friends, the Tristrams. She felt she could easily have won Merry also to join, the ranks of adorers; but then it suddenly occurred to her that her friendship for Merry should be even more subtle than the ordinary friendship that an ordinary girl who is queen at school gives to her fellows. She did not dare to defy Aneta. Merry must outwardly belong to Aneta, but if her heart was Maggie’s what else mattered?
When tea was over several of the girls drifted into the garden, where they walked in twos, discussing their holidays, their old friends, and the time which was just coming. There was not a trace of unhappiness in any face. The whole atmosphere of the place seemed to breathe peace and goodwill.
Aneta and Cicely, with some of Aneta’s own friends, two 110 girls of the name of Armitage—Anne and Jessie—and a very graceful girl called Sylvia St. John, walked up and down talking quietly together for some little time.
Then Cicely looked eagerly round her. “I can’t see Merry anywhere,” she remarked.
“She is all right, dear, I am sure,” said Aneta. But Aneta in her inmost heart did not think so. She was, however, far too prudent to say a word to make her cousin Cicely uneasy.
Meanwhile Maggie and Merry had found a cosy corner for themselves in one of the conservatories. They sat side by side in two little garden-chairs.
“Well, you’ve come!” said Maggie. “I have carried out my design. My heart’s desire is satisfied.”
“Oh, how sweet you are, Maggie!” said Merry. “I have missed you so much!” she added. “I have so often wished for you!”
“Do you really love me?” asked Maggie, looking at Merry in her queer, abrupt manner.
“You know I do,” said Merry.