And yet, to her credit be it remembered, for two years, she fought her fears, superstitions, jealousies, angers.That can have been no easy thing for a woman who had always had her own way.But Maggie helped her.There were many days during that first year at any rate when Grace thought that the girl was, after all, only the simple harmless child that she had first found her.
It was so transparently clear that Maggie bore no malice against any one in the world, that when she angered Grace she did so always by accident, never by plan-it was only unfortunate that the accidents should occur so often.
Maggie's days were from the very first of the utmost regularity.
Breakfast at 8.30, then an interview with the cook (Grace generally in attendance here), then shopping (with Grace), luncheon at 1.30, afternoon, paying calls or receiving them, dinner 7.45, and after dinner, reading a book while Paul and Grace played bezique, or, if Paul was busy upon a sermon or a letter (he wrote letters very slowly), patience with Grace.This regular day was varied with meetings, choir practices, dinner-parties, and an occasional Penny Reading.
In this framework of the year it would have appeared that there was very little that could breed disturbance.There were, however, little irritations.Maggie would have given a great deal could she have been allowed to interview the cook in the morning alone.
It would seem impossible to an older person that Grace's presence could so embarrass Maggie; it embarrassed her to the terrible extent of driving every idea out of her head.
When Maggie had stammered and hesitated and at last allowed, the cook to make a suggestion, Grace would say."You mustn't leave it all to cook, dear.Now what about a nice shepherd's pie?"The cook, who hated Grace, would toss her head.
"Impossible to-day, Mum...Quite impossible.""Oh, do you think so?" Maggie would say.
This was the cook's opportunity.