“Yes, that is quite true,” said Kathleen; “but I call Aneta a little stiff, and she is very determined too, and she doesn’t like poor old Mags one single bit. Wasn’t it jolly of Mags to get up this glorious day for us? Won’t we have fun? Aneta may look to her laurels, for it’s my opinion that the Gibsons and the Cardews will both come over to our side after Saturday.”
While this conversation was going on, and Maggie’s absence was deplored, and no business whatever was being done towards the entertainment of Saturday, Maggie found herself seated opposite to Aneta in Aneta’s own bedroom. Maggie felt queer and shaken. She did not quite know what was the matter. Aneta’s face was very quiet.
After a time she drew a letter from her pocket and put it into Maggie’s hand.
“Who brought this?” asked Maggie.
“A person who called herself Tildy.” 152
Maggie held the letter unopened in her lap.
“Why don’t you read it?” said Aneta.
Maggie took it up and glanced at the handwriting. Then she put it down again.
“It’s from my mother,” she said. “It can keep.”
“I cannot imagine,” said Aneta, “anybody waiting even for one moment to read a letter which one’s own mother has written. My mother is dead, you know.”