“Do you really, really think that, Maggie? Please don’t say any more, then, until you hear me out to the end. I will tell you as quickly as possible; I will put you out of suspense. I could have made things very different for you, but at least I will put you out of suspense.”
“Well, go on; I am willing to listen. I hope you will be brief.”
“It is this, Maggie. I will say nothing about your past; I simply tell you what, through no fault of mine, I found out to-day. You gave the girls of this school to understand that your mother’s husband—your stepfather—was a gentleman of old family. The person called Tildy told me about Mr. Martin. He may be a gentleman by nature, but he is not one by profession.”
Maggie clutched one of her hands so tightly that the nails almost pierced her flesh.
“I won’t hurt you, Maggie, by saying much on that subject. Your own father was a gentleman, and you cannot help your mother having married beneath her.” 153
Maggie gasped. Such words as these from the proud Aneta!
“But there is worse to follow,” continued Aneta. “I happened to go to Pearce’s to-day.”
Maggie, who had half-risen, sank back again in her seat.
“And Pearce wants to see you in order to return a brooch which you sold him. He says that he cannot afford the right price for the brooch. He wants you to give him back the money which he lent you on it, and he wants you to have the brooch again in your possession. You, of course, know, Maggie, that in selling one of your belongings and in going out without leave you broke one of the fundamental rules of Aylmer House. You know that, therefore––Why, what is the matter?”
Maggie’s queer face was working convulsively. After a time slow, big tears gathered in her eyes. Her complexion changed from its usual dull ugliness to a vivid red; it then went white, so ghastly white that the girl might have been going to faint. All this took place in less than a minute. At the end of that time Maggie was her old disdainful, angry self once more.