And so as the two chatted, she putting in a stumbling phrase when they
turned to her, Maggie Carlisle, Maggie Cameron, Maggie Ellison, that
gallant and all-confident adventuress who till the present had never
admitted herself seriously disturbed by a problem, sat limply in her
chair, a very young girl, indeed, and wondered how this thing could
possibly be.
CHAPTER XXIV
Presently Miss Sherwood said something about tea, excused herself, and
disappeared within the house. Maggie saw that Hunt watched Miss
Sherwood till she was safely within doors; then she was aware that he
was gazing steadily at her; then she saw him execute a slow, solemn
wink.
Maggie almost sprang from her chair.
"Shall we take a little stroll, Miss Cameron?" Hunt asked. "I think it
will be some time before Miss Sherwood will want us for tea."
"Yes--thank you," Maggie stammered.
Hunt led her down a walk of white gravel to where a circle of Hiawatha
roses were trained into a graceful mosque, now daintily glorious with
its solid covering of yellow-hearted red blooms. Within this retreat
was a rustic bench, and on this Hunt seated her and took a place
beside her. He looked her over with the cool, direct, studious eyes
which reminded her of his gaze when he had been painting her.
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