went up to her room. When at last
she was wearing the dress, standing before her mirror, her cheeks were
red and her hands shook a little.

The dress was very fine--simple of course and quite plain, but elegant
as no dress of Maggie's had ever been elegant. There surely could not
anywhere be a more perfect black dress, and yet, as Maggie gazed, she
was aware that there was something not quite right. She was always
straightforward with herself; yes, the thing that was not quite right
was her own stupid shape. Her figure was too square, her back was too
short, her hands too large. She had a moment of acute disgust with
herself so that she could have torn the dress from her and rushed into
her old obscure and dingy black again. Of what use to dress her up? She
would always look wrong, always be awkward and ungainly ... tears of
disappointment gathered slowly in her eyes. Then her pride reasserted
itself; she raised her head proudly and laughed at her anxious gaze.
There was still her new hat. She took it from the bed and put it on,
sticking big pins into it, moving back from the mirror, then forward
again, turning her back, standing on her toes, suddenly bowing to
herself and waving her hand.

She was caught thus, laughing into the mirror, by old Martha, who
pushed her sour face through the door and said: "They've been waiting
this long time for you, Miss."

"All right, Martha," Maggie answered sharply, annoyed that she should
be found, posturing and bowing, by the woman. "Why didn't you knock?"

"I did knock, Miss. You were that occupied you didn't hear me." The old
woman was grinning.

Maggie went downstairs, her heart still beating, her cheeks still
flushed. She did hope that Aunt Anne would be pleased. Aunt Anne,
although she never said anything about clothes, must, of course, notice
such things, and if she loved Maggie as Mr. Magnus said she did, then
she would "show her approval." The girl stood for a moment on the
bottom step of the staircase looking at her aunt who was waiting for
her in the little dark hall.

"Well, dear--I'm waiting," she said.

The burning eyes of Thomas the cat watched from the deep shadows.

"I'm so sorry. I was dressing," said Maggie.

Her aunt said nothing more and they left the house.

Maggie, as always when she walked with Aunt Anne, was aware that they
made a strange couple, she so short and the other so tall, she with her
sturdy masculine walk, her aunt with her awkward halti