Maggie did not mind--it amused her to see her terror of the night before transformed into a mere serenading crippled old gentleman, and to see, too, the excited pleasure with which Caroline accepted even such decayed attentions as these.But what was it that had persuaded her last night? Why did she now spend her time half in one world and half in another? Which world was the real one?
Aunt Anne very soon joined them, and this quiet, composed figure only added to Maggie's scorn of her last night's terrors.Was this the same who had struggled with such agony, who had made Maggie feel that she was caught in a trap and imprisoned for ever?
The sun beat hotly upon the carpet.Caroline's rose-coloured silk shone and glowed, the tea was poured out, and there was chatter about the warm winter that it was and how time passed, and how fashions changed, and how you never saw a four-wheeler now, and what they were turning Kingsway into, and what they were turning the Law Courts out of, and even once, by Mr.Crashaw, a word about the Lyceum Theatre, where some one was playing the Merchant of Venice, which was a fine play and could do no one any harm.
"But I daresay," said Mr.Crashaw, "that this young lady here goes to nothing but plays every night of her life.""Why, Mr.Crashaw," said Caroline, tossing her head."If that's the kind of life you fancy I lead you're completely mistaken.Theatres indeed! Never do I put so much as the tip of my nose inside one.