and would, perhaps, if she were hard pressed, utter a feeble protest even in his presence; and that was absolutely all. …
“Maggie! Maggie!” came the gentle old voice, calling presently; and then to some unseen person, “Have you seen Miss Deronnais anywhere?”
Maggie put the letter in her pocket and hurried through from the orchard.
“Yes?” she said, with a half hope.
“Come in, my dear, and tell me what you think of those new teacups in the Bon Marché catalogue,” said the old lady. “There seem some beautiful new designs, and we want another set.”
Maggie bowed to the inevitable. But as they passed up the garden her resolution was precipitated.
“Can you let me go by twelve,” she said. “I rather want to see Father Mahon about something.”
“My dear, I shall not keep you three minutes,” protested the old lady.
And they went in to talk for an hour and three-quarters.