“No, my dear. Have you finished dinner?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Where’s Laurie? I should like to see him for a minute.”
“Not tonight, Auntie; you’re too tired. Besides, I think he’s gone to the smoking room.”
She acquiesced placidly.
“Very well, dearest. … Oh! Maggie, such a queer thing happened just now—when you were at dinner.”
“Yes?”
“I thought I saw Laurie look in, just for an instant. But he looked awful, somehow. It was just one of my little waking visions I’ve told you of, I suppose.”
The girl was silent; but the old lady saw her suddenly straighten herself.
“Just ask him whether he did look in, after all. It may just have been the shadow on his face.”
“What time was it?”
“About ten past eight, I suppose, dearest. You’ll ask him, won’t you?”
“Yes, Auntie. … I think I’d better lock your door when I go out. You won’t fancy such things then, will you?”
“Very well, dearest. As you think best.”
The old voice was becoming sleepy again: and Maggie stood watching a moment or two longer.