The days went pleasantly enough after that. She would not for an instant allow to herself that any of their smoothness arose from the fact that this boy would be here again in a few weeks. On the contrary, it was because she had detected a weakness in his regard, she told herself, and had resolutely stamped on it, that she was in so serene a peace. She arranged about the shooting—that is to say, she informed the acting keeper that Master Laurie would be home for Christmas as usual—all in an unemotional manner, and went about her various affairs without effort.
She found Mrs. Baxter just a little trying now and then. That lady had come to the conclusion that Laurie was unhappy in his religion—certainly references to it had dropped out of his letters—and that Mr. Rymer must set it right.
“The Vicar must dine here at least twice while Laurie is here,” she observed at breakfast one morning. “He has a great influence with young men.”
Maggie reflected upon a remark or two, extremely unjust, made by Laurie with regard to the clergyman.
“Do you think—do you think he understands Laurie?” she said.
“He has known him for fifteen years,” remarked Mrs. Baxter.
“Perhaps it’s Laurie that doesn’t understand him then,” said Maggie tranquilly.
“I daresay.”
“And—and what do you think Mr. Rymer will be able to do?” asked the girl.
“Just settle the boy. … I don’t think Laurie’s very happy. Not that I would willingly disturb his mind again; I don’t mean that, my dear. I