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Updated: May 10, 2025
"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.
It was part of the solemn evening service of the god. And, as he smoked, the devotee retreated to her chair and watched him. "Maggie," he said, "supposing Mr. Mumford was to come in?" "He won't. Sunday's his day; or would be, if I let him 'ave a day." "Why don't you?" She shook her head. "I've seen nobody." There was silence for five minutes. "Mr. Magendy " "Majendie, Maggie, Majendie." "Mr.
Magendy because of Charlie." She looked at him as if she thought he would compel her to marry Mr. Mumford. "Oh dear " said Maggie, surprised at herself, as she began to cry again. She pressed the little muslin handkerchief to her eyes; not making a show of her grief; but furtive, rather, and ashamed. And Majendie took in all the pitifulness of her sweet, predestined nature.
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