"He will be queer at lunch. Then he will probably ride alone and be
late for tea. Then tomorrow--"
"Oh! my dear, Mrs. Stapleton is coming to lunch tomorrow. Do you think
he'll mind?"
"Who is Mrs. Stapleton?"
The old lady hesitated.
"She's--she's the wife of Colonel Stapleton. She goes in for what I
think is called New Thought; at least, so somebody told me last month.
I'm afraid she's not a very steady person. She was a vegetarian last
year; now I believe she's given that up again."
Maggie smiled slowly, showing a row of very white, strong teeth.
"I know, auntie," she said. "No; I shouldn't think Laurie'll mind
much. Perhaps he'll go back to town in the morning, too."
"No, my dear, he's staying till Thursday."
* * * * *
There fell again one of those pleasant silences that are possible in
the country. Outside the garden, with the meadows beyond the village
road, lay in that sweet September hush of sunlight and mellow color
that seemed to embalm the house in peace. From the farm beyond the
stable-yard came the crowing of a cock, followed by the liquid chuckle
of a pigeon perched somewhere overhead among the twisted chimneys.
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