By the time she had done, Maggie's
attention had begun to wander again: the old lady had never known her
so unsympathetic before, and said so with gentle peevishness.
Maggie kissed her quickly.
"I'm sorry, Auntie," she said. "I was just thinking of
something. Sleep well; and don't get up in the morning."
Then she left her to a spoonful of soup, a little _volaille_, a
custard, some fruit, her spiritual book and contentment.
Downstairs she dined alone in the green-hung dining-room; and she
revolved for the twentieth time the thoughts that had been
continuously with her since midday, moving before her like a
kaleidoscope, incessantly changing their relations, their shapes, and
their suggestions. These tended to form themselves into two main
alternative classes. Either Mr. Cathcart was a harmless fanatic, or he
was unusually sharp. But these again had almost endless subdivisions,
for at present she had no idea of what was really in his mind--as to
what his hints meant. Either this curious old gentleman with shrewd,
humorous eyes was entirely wrong, and Laurie was just suffering from a
nervous strain, not severe enough to hinder him from reading law in
Mr. Morton's chambers; and this was all the substratum of Mr.
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