The Captives [152]
Miss Arne. Won't smile at her. Wonder why not? Something between those two. What about dinner? A little onion fry--that's the thing these damp days--Onion fry--Onion Fry. ONION FRY . . . One last look back before the world is filled with the sense, smell, and taste of it.--Poor girl, so white and so patient--the young man will never come back--never . . . never . . . ONION FRY.
No; no one knew what Maggie was thinking. No one found out until Maggie had her second visitor, Miss Avies.
When Martha opened the door to Miss Avies she was astonished. Miss Avies hadn't been near the house since old Warlock died. What was she wanting here now, with her stiff back and bossy manner.
"I don't know whether you can see--"
"Oh nonsense, it's Maggie Cardinal I want to see. She's now in the drawing-room sitting on a chair with a shawl on by the fire. Don't tell me!"
Martha quivered with anger. "The doctor's orders is--"
"I'm going to be doctor to-day," she said, and strode inside. She went upstairs and found Aunt Elizabeth sitting with Maggie.
"How do you do, Miss Cardinal?" They shook hands, Miss Avies standing over Aunt Elizabeth like the boa constrictor raised above the mouse.
"That's all right . . . No, I don't want to see your sister. And to be quite honest, I don't want to see you either. It's your niece I want to see. And alone--"
"Certainly--it's only the doctor said--"
"Not to excite her. I know. But I'm not going to excite her. I'm going to give her some medicine. You come back in half an hour from now. Will you? That's right. Thank you so much."
Aunt Elizabeth, unhappy, uncomfortable, filled with misgivings, as in these days she always was, left the room.
"Well, there . . . that's right," said Miss Avies, settling herself in the opposite side of the fire from Maggie and looking at her with not unfriendly eyes. "How are you?"
"Oh much better, thank you," said Maggie. "Ever so much better."
"No, you're not," said Miss Avies. "And you're only lying when you say you are. You'll never get better unless you do what I tell you-- "
"What's that?" asked Maggie.
"Face things. Face everything. Have it all out. Don't leave a bit of it alone, and then just keep what's useful."
"I don't quite know what you mean," said Maggie--but the faint colour had faded from her cheeks and her hands had run together for protection.
Miss Avies's voice softened--"I'm probably going away very soon," she said, "going away and not coming back. All my work's over here. But I wanted to see you before I went. You remember another talk we had here?"
"Very well," said Maggie.
"You remember what I told you?"
"You told me not to stay here," said Maggie.
"Yes, I did." said Miss Avies. "and I meant it. The matter with you is that you've been kept here all this time without any proper work to do and that's been very bad for you and made you sit with your hands folded in front of you, your head filling with silly fancies."
Maggie couldn't help smiling at this description of herself.
"Oh, you smile," said Miss Avies vigorously, "but it's perfectly true."
"Well, it's all right now." said Maggie, "because I am going away-- as soon as ever I'm well enough." "What to do?" asked Miss Avies.
"I don't quite know yet," said Maggie.
"Well, I know," said Miss Avies. "You're going away to brood over that young man."
Maggie said nothing.
"Oh I know . . . It seems cruel of me to speak of it just when you've had such a bad time, but it's kindness really. If I don't force you to think it all out and face it properly you'll be burying it in some precious spot and always digging it up to look at it. You face it, my girl. You say to yourself--well, he wasn't such a wonderful young man after all. I can lead my life all right without him--of course I can. I'm not going to be dependent on him and sigh and groan and waste away because I can't see him. I know what it is. I've been through it myself."
Then there was a pause; then Maggie suddenly looked up and smiled.
"But you're quite wrong, Miss Avies.
No; no one knew what Maggie was thinking. No one found out until Maggie had her second visitor, Miss Avies.
When Martha opened the door to Miss Avies she was astonished. Miss Avies hadn't been near the house since old Warlock died. What was she wanting here now, with her stiff back and bossy manner.
"I don't know whether you can see--"
"Oh nonsense, it's Maggie Cardinal I want to see. She's now in the drawing-room sitting on a chair with a shawl on by the fire. Don't tell me!"
Martha quivered with anger. "The doctor's orders is--"
"I'm going to be doctor to-day," she said, and strode inside. She went upstairs and found Aunt Elizabeth sitting with Maggie.
"How do you do, Miss Cardinal?" They shook hands, Miss Avies standing over Aunt Elizabeth like the boa constrictor raised above the mouse.
"That's all right . . . No, I don't want to see your sister. And to be quite honest, I don't want to see you either. It's your niece I want to see. And alone--"
"Certainly--it's only the doctor said--"
"Not to excite her. I know. But I'm not going to excite her. I'm going to give her some medicine. You come back in half an hour from now. Will you? That's right. Thank you so much."
Aunt Elizabeth, unhappy, uncomfortable, filled with misgivings, as in these days she always was, left the room.
"Well, there . . . that's right," said Miss Avies, settling herself in the opposite side of the fire from Maggie and looking at her with not unfriendly eyes. "How are you?"
"Oh much better, thank you," said Maggie. "Ever so much better."
"No, you're not," said Miss Avies. "And you're only lying when you say you are. You'll never get better unless you do what I tell you-- "
"What's that?" asked Maggie.
"Face things. Face everything. Have it all out. Don't leave a bit of it alone, and then just keep what's useful."
"I don't quite know what you mean," said Maggie--but the faint colour had faded from her cheeks and her hands had run together for protection.
Miss Avies's voice softened--"I'm probably going away very soon," she said, "going away and not coming back. All my work's over here. But I wanted to see you before I went. You remember another talk we had here?"
"Very well," said Maggie.
"You remember what I told you?"
"You told me not to stay here," said Maggie.
"Yes, I did." said Miss Avies. "and I meant it. The matter with you is that you've been kept here all this time without any proper work to do and that's been very bad for you and made you sit with your hands folded in front of you, your head filling with silly fancies."
Maggie couldn't help smiling at this description of herself.
"Oh, you smile," said Miss Avies vigorously, "but it's perfectly true."
"Well, it's all right now." said Maggie, "because I am going away-- as soon as ever I'm well enough." "What to do?" asked Miss Avies.
"I don't quite know yet," said Maggie.
"Well, I know," said Miss Avies. "You're going away to brood over that young man."
Maggie said nothing.
"Oh I know . . . It seems cruel of me to speak of it just when you've had such a bad time, but it's kindness really. If I don't force you to think it all out and face it properly you'll be burying it in some precious spot and always digging it up to look at it. You face it, my girl. You say to yourself--well, he wasn't such a wonderful young man after all. I can lead my life all right without him--of course I can. I'm not going to be dependent on him and sigh and groan and waste away because I can't see him. I know what it is. I've been through it myself."
Then there was a pause; then Maggie suddenly looked up and smiled.
"But you're quite wrong, Miss Avies.