"Maggie dear," he said softly, "I love you better because you're young and unformed.I can help you, dear, and you can help me, of course; I'm a dreadful old buffer in many ways.I'm forty, you know, and you're such a child.How old are you, Maggie?""Twenty," she said.
"Twenty! Fancy! And you can like an old parson--well, well...If you care for me nothing else matters.God will see to the rest.""I don't like leaving things to other people," Maggie said slowly.
"Now I suppose I've shocked you.But there you are; I shall always be shocking you.""Nothing that you can say will shock me," he answered firmly."Do you know that that's part of the charm you have for me, you dear little wild thing? If you will come and live with me perhaps you will see how God works, how mysterious are His ways, and what He means to do for you--"Maggie shivered: "Oh, now you're talking like Aunt Anne.I don't want to feel that I'm something that some one can do what he likes with.I'm not.""No.I know you're not," Paul answered eagerly."You're very independent.I admire that in you--and so does Grace--""Would Grace like us to marry?" asked Maggie.
"It's the desire of her heart," said Paul.
"But how can you want to marry me when you know I don't love you ?""Love's a strange thing.Companionship can make great changes.You like me.That is enough for the present.I can be patient.I'm not an impetuous man."He was certainly not.He was just a large warm comfortable creature far, far from the terrified and strangely travelled soul of Martin...Insensibly, hardly realising what she did, Maggie was drawn towards Paul.He drew close to her, moved on to the sofa, and then with one arm about her let her head rest against his chest.