a telegram but the truth
is, my dear, that I didn't want to spend a penny more than I must.
Things haven't been going so well with me of late. It's a long story. I
want your father's advice. I've had the worst of luck and I could tell
you one or two things that would simply surprise you--but anyway, there
it is. Just for a night I'm sure you won't mind. To-morrow or the day
after I must be back in town or this thing will slip right through my
fingers. These days one must be awake or one's simply nowhere."

He paused and nodded his head very solemnly at her, looking, as he did
so, serious and important.

It was thus that he always appeared, "for one night only," but staying
for weeks and weeks in spite of the indignant protests of his brother
Charles who had never liked him and grudged the expense of his visits.
Maggie herself took his appearance as she did everything else in her
life with good-tempered philosophy. She had an affection for her uncle;
she wished that he did not drink so much, but had he made a success of
life she would not have cared for him as she did. After all every one
had their weaknesses ...

She steered her uncle into the dining-room and placed him on a chair
beside the fire. In all his movements he attempted restraints and
dignity because he knew that he was drunk but hoped that his niece, in
spite of her long experience of him, would not perceive it. At the same
time he knew that she did perceive it and would perhaps scold him about
it. This made him a little indignant because, after all, he had only
taken the tiniest drop--one drop at Drymouth, another at Liskane
station, and another at "The Hearty Cow" at Clinton St. Mary, just
before his start on his cold lonely walk to St. Dreot's. He hoped that
he would prevent her criticism by his easy pleasant talk, so on he
chattered.

She sat down near him and continuing to sew smiled at him, wondered
what there was for dinner and the kind of mood that her father would be
in when he found his dear brother here.

Maggie Cardinal, at the time, was nineteen years of age. She was
neither handsome nor distinguished, plain indeed, although her mild,
good-natured eyes had in their light a quality of vitality and interest
that gave her personality; her figure was thick and square--she would
be probably stout one day. She moved like a man. Behind the mildness of
her eyes there was much character and resolve in her carriage, in the
strong neck, the firm bre