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Updated: June 19, 2025
Better not let her know you've consulted me." In one hour Majendie had learnt more about his wife than he had found out in the year he had lived with her; and the doctor had found out more about Majendie than he had learnt in the ten years he had been practising in Scale. And upstairs in her drawing-room, little Mrs.
She would have died with joy for Mr. Majendie. And Maggie feared death worse than life, however miserable. But there was something in her love for Majendie that revealed it as a thing apart. It had not made her idle. Her passion for Mr. Majendie blossomed and flowered, and ran over in beautiful embroidery. That industry ministered to it.
Peggy was buttoned into a little white coat to keep her warm; and they set out, Majendie carrying the luncheon basket, and Peggy an enormous doll. Peggy enjoyed the journey. When she was not talking to Majendie she was singing a little song to keep the doll quiet, so that the time passed very quickly both for her and him.
"How can you say that, my dear Mrs. Majendie, when she has you?" "And her brother." The Canon gave her a keen glance. He seemed to be turning a little extra light on to her secret, to see it the better by. And under that light her mind conceived again a miserable suspicion. "He knows something," she thought. "What is it that he knows? They all seem to know."
Perpetua is sitting on a distant lounge, her small vivacious face one thunder-cloud. Miss Majendie, sitting on the hardest chair this hideous room contains, is smiling. A terrible sign. The professor pales before it. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Curzon," says Miss Majendie, rising and extending a bony hand. "As Perpetua's guardian, you may perhaps have some influence over her.
Majendie was in Scarby, in the hotel on the little grey parade, where he and Anne had stayed on their honeymoon. Lady Cayley was with him. She was with him in the sitting-room which had been his and Anne's. They were by themselves. The Ransomes were dining with friends in another quarter of the town. He had accepted Sarah's invitation to dine with her alone.
Why on earth hadn't he read it first? So, the girl is to be sent to live with her aunt after all an old lady maiden lady. Evidently living somewhere in Bloomsbury. Miss Jane Majendie. Mother's sister evidently. Wynter's sisters would never have been old maids if they had resembled him, which probably they did if he had any. What a handsome fellow he was! and such a good-natured fellow too.
"I suppose," Gorst said suddenly, "I can go up and see Edith, can't I?" He spoke as if he doubted, whether, in the wreck of his world, with all his "innocent amusements," that supreme consolation would be still open to him. "Of course you can," said Majendie. "It's the best thing you can do. I told her you were coming."
"What the devil are you doing there?" shouted Majendie. But no one answered him. When the sail came down he saw. "My God," he cried, "she's going in." Old Pearson, at the wheel, spat quietly over the yacht's side. "Not she," said old Pearson. "She's too much afraid o' cold water." Maggie was down on the lower bank close to the edge of the river.
The situation, which he had accepted so obediently, had been more than a mere mortal man could endure. Especially in the terrible five minutes after dinner, before they settled for the evening, when each sat waiting to see if the other had anything to say. Sometimes Majendie would take up his book and Anne her work. She would sew, and sew, patient, persistent, in her tragic silence.
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