She was in the fractious period of influenza,
and Maggie had had a hard time with her.
Nothing particular had happened for the last ten days. Mrs. Baxter's
feverish cold had developed, and she was but now emerging from the
nightdress and flannel-jacket stage to that of the petticoat and
dressing-gown. It was all very ordinary and untragic, and Maggie had
had but little time to consider the events on which her subconscious
attention still dwelt. Mr. Cathcart had had no particular news to give
her. Laurie, it seemed, was working silently with his coach, talking
little. Yet the old man did not for one instant withdraw one word that
he had said. Only, in answer to a series of positive inquiries from
the girl two days before, he had told her to wait and see him for
herself, warning her at the same time to show no signs of perturbation
to the boy.
And now the day was come--Easter Eve, as it happened--and she would
see him before night. He had sent no answer to her first letter; then,
finally, a telegram had come that morning announcing his train.
She was wondering with all her might that afternoon as to what she
would see. In a way she was terrified; in another way she was
contemptuous.
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