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But Leucha hated Sir Walter Scott; she hated his dialect, his long descriptions; she was not interested even in this marvellous work of his, Ivanhoe, and lay back in her easy-chair with her eyes half shut and her mind halt asleep. There came a sharp, short knock at her door. It roused Leucha to say, 'Who's there? 'It's me, Magsie, please, miss, replied a voice.
To emotion like Rachael's emotion silence was the only unthinkable thing. She had planned a dozen notes, written perhaps five. The one she left was brief: MY DEAR WARREN: I am leaving with the children for Clark's Hills. You will know best what steps to take in the matter of the freedom you desire. I will cooperate in any way. I have written Magsie that I will not contest your divorce.
Long before the rehearsals for the little play were over she knew the name of that new passion that was tearing and gnawing at her heart. No use to tell herself that if Magsie WAS deeply admired by Warren, if Magsie WAS beautiful, if Magsie WAS constantly in his thoughts, way, she, Rachael, was still his wife; his home, his sons, his name were hers! She was jealous jealous jealous of Magsie Clay.
"That's a pretty girl," she found herself saying involuntarily as her absent eyes were suddenly arrested by the face and figure of one of the guests. "I wonder who that is?" The brown eyes she was watching met hers at the same second, and smiling a little question, their owner came toward her. "Hello, Rachael," the girl said. "How are you after all these years?" "Magsie Clay!"
'What dress would ye be likin' to array yerself in? asked Magsie. 'I'm not going to dress for dinner. 'Not goin' to dress for dinner! But the master, he dresses like most people i' the evenin', and the young leddies and gentlemen and Mrs Constable, they sit down at the table ah, weel! as them as is accustomed to respec' their station in life.
Why, that was a piece of india-rubber tucked inside my lip. It was fearfully difficult to make it stick, I can tell you. It kept jiggling about when I tried to talk. Elihu, old man, shall we dance a tickle-toe?" "Stop, you mad creatures! If you make such a racket you'll be bringing Bunty down upon us," interposed Magsie, as the masquerading couple twirled each other round and round.
"The Sixth are having a ballot," put in Jess. "And VB. are going to fight like Kilkenny cats over Magsie and Barbara." "There'll be some hullabaloo in several of the forms, I expect." "Thanks awfully for electing me," replied Ingred. "I suppose I ought to make a speech, but I really don't know what to say!" "You've got to say it all the same!" laughed Verity.
"I see," Rachael said. "Greg said, 'This is only a dream, Magsie, and we mustn't let ourselves dream!" Magsie went on. "But but sometimes dreams come true, don't they?" She stopped. There was an unearthly silence in the room. "I've tried to fight it, and I cannot," Magsie presently said in a small, tired voice; "it comes between me and everything I do. I'm not a great actress I know that.
Do you understand back-combing? 'Lawk a mercy, ma'am! I never heard tell o' such a thing; and speakin' o' my master and his family as fules is beyond a'. However, Miss Jasmine, the darlin', she comes to me and she says in her coaxin' way, "Mak' the auld leddy comfy, Magsie;" and I 'd risk mony a danger to please Miss Jasmine. 'There isn't any Miss Jasmine. Her name is Lucy.
"Don't be silly!" said Geraldine, who, with Loveday and Hilary, was making her exit. "There's nothing inside it. It's only like a cave." "You're sure bogeys won't catch my legs?" "Stop outside, if you're afraid." "It's like a fairy-tale, and going into the gnome's hill," fluttered Magsie.
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