"How did you know it was my little girl?"
"I saw you walking with her, one Saturday, in the Park. It was an accident—really. I was taking my work to that lady who buys from me—Mrs. 'Anny."
"I see."
"You're not angry with me, Mr. Magendy?"
"Of course not. What made you think I was?"
"Your face. You would be angry if I followed you. But I wouldn't do such a thing. I've never followed any one—never. And I wouldn't do it now, not if I was paid," she protested.
"It's all right, Maggie, it's all right."
Maggie clasped her knees and sat thinking. She seemed to know by intuition when it was advantageous to be silent, and when to speak. But Majendie was thinking, too. He was wondering whether he was not being a little too kind to Maggie; whether a little unkindness would not be a salutary change for both of them. Why couldn't the girl marry Mr. Mumford? He didn't want to profit by the transaction. He would have gladly paid Mr. Mumford to marry her, and take her away.
He put his hand over his eyes as a veil for his thoughts; and when he took it away again, Maggie had risen and was going on soundless feet towards the door.
"Don't go," she said, "I'll be back in a minute."