not ready. The bell's begun. The rain's coming down very hard, I'm
afraid. It's only a step from our door. Your things, dear, as quick as
you can."

The girl ran upstairs and, stayed by some sudden impulse, stood for a
moment before the long mirror. It was as though she were imploring that
familiar casual figure that she saw there not to leave her, the only
friend she had in a world that was suddenly terrifying and alarming.
Her old black dress that had seemed almost smart for the St. Dreot
funeral now appeared most desperately shabby; she knew that her black
hat was anything but attractive.

"What do I care for them all!" her heart said defiantly. "What do they
matter to me!"

She marched out of the house behind the aunts with her head in the air,
very conscious of a hole in one of her thin black gloves.

The street, deserted, danced in the rain; the little bell clanged with
the stupid monotony of its one obstinate idea; the town wore its
customary Sunday air of a stage when the performance is concluded, the
audience vanished and the lights turned down. The aunts had a solemn
air as though they were carrying Maggie as a sacrifice. All these
things were depressing.

They turned out of their own street into a thin, grey one in which the
puddles sprang and danced against isolated milk-cans and a desolate
pillar-box. The little bell was now loud and strident, and when they
passed into a passage which led into a square, rather grimy yard,
Maggie saw that they had arrived. Before her was a hideous building,
the colour of beef badly cooked, with grey stone streaks in it here and
there and thin, narrow windows of grey glass with stiff, iron divisions
between the glass. The porch to the door was of the ugliest grey stone
with "The Lord Cometh" in big black letters across the top of it. Just
inside the door was a muddy red mat, and near the mat stood a gentleman
in a faded frock-coat and brown boots, an official apparently. There
arrived at the same time as Maggie and her aunts a number of ladies and
gentlemen all hidden beneath umbrellas. As they stood in the doorway a
sudden scurry of wind and rain drove them all forward so that there was
some crush and confusion in the little passage beyond the door.
Waterproofs steamed; umbrellas were ranged in dripping disorder against
the wall. The official, who talked in a hushed whisper that was drowned
by the creaking of his boots, welcomed them all with the intimacy of an
old ac