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Finding him alone in his study, she attacked. "Paul, did you mean Grace to come with us to Little Harben in August?" "Of course, dear. She has nowhere else to go." "Well, she mustn't come. I've given way about everything since we were married. I'm not going to give way about this. That month we are to be alone." "Alone!" said Paul. "But we're always alone."
She had never really disliked her, she had only been irritated by her. She thought it very natural of her to be angry and jealous about Paul. She was determined that this month at Little Harben should put everything right. Looking back over these past years she blamed herself severely. She had been proud, self-centred, unfeeling. She remembered that day so long ago at St.
Maggie, watching, felt with a sinking heart that she was beginning to despise Paul. His very movement as he hurried to place a cushion for Grace sent a little shiver down her back. "Oh, don't do it, Paul!" she heard herself cry internally, but she could say nothing. She had won her victory about Harben. She could only now be silent. Still, she bore no grudge at all against Grace.
The site for its library was acquired from Sir Maryon Wilson, and the stone was laid by Sir Henry Harben, who had given £5,000 for the erection of the building. Five branch libraries are established in connection, and the main one is chiefly for reference. This was opened in 1897.
The little garden behind the Rectory was parched and brown; the laurel bushes were grey with dust. They saw very few people that summer; many of their friends had escaped. Maggie, thinking of the green depths of Harben a year ago, longed for its coolness; nevertheless she was happy to think that she would never have to see Harben again. As she had foretold, laziness settled upon Paul.
Let's be happy, Paul please." She was shivering. She looked back with a terrified, reluctant glance to the drawer where Mr. Magnus' letter was, then she went downstairs. Soon after they started for Little Harben. The last days in Skeaton had scarcely been happy ones. Grace had erected an elaborate scaffolding of offended dignity and bitter misery.
"Maggie," he said in a low voice. "If we go alone to Little Harben does it mean that you think you can begin to love me?" She turned her eyes away. "I don't know. I don't know about myself, I only know that I want us to be happy and I want us to be close together as we were before we were married. It's all gone wrong somehow; I'm sure it's my fault.
"I do so hate quarrels," he said. Maggie went up to him and rather timidly put her hand on his arm. "We'll have a lovely time at Harben," she said. "Oh, I do want you to be happy, Paul." Strangely enough Maggie felt happier after this disturbance.
There was a small sable stole about her neck. The skirt was short, and she wore high black shoes of the thick walking type. Judging from Burton's description she must have been about your size and figure, Mrs. Wrandall. Isn't that so, Mrs. Burton?" The inn-keeper's wife spoke. "Yes, Mr. Harben, I'd say so myself.
When he was smoking with the party, a really interesting discussion took place between the three men. Mr. Harben, the newcomer, had been particularly interested in the "intoxication festivals" held in honour of the goddess Hathor at Dendereh. Michael naturally had read more upon the subject of the festival of Isis.