h so radiant an
amiability that she was compelled to respond. The woman did not look at
her.

Long after she had left them she thought of the little man's smile.
There was something that, in spite of herself, reminded her both of
Uncle Mathew and Martin. She felt a sudden and warm kinship, something
that she had not known since her arrival in Skeaton. Had she not
struggled with herself every kind of reminiscence of her London life
would have come crowding about her. This meeting was like the first
little warning tap upon the wall ...

On her return she spoke of it.

"Oh," said Paul, "that must have been poor little Mr. Toms with his
sister."

"Poor?" asked Maggie.

"Yes. He's queer in his head, you know," said Paul. "Quite harmless,
but he has the strangest ideas."

Maggie noticed then that Grace shivered and the whole of her face
worked with an odd emotion of horror and disgust.

"He should have been shut up somewhere," she said. "It's disgraceful
letting him walk about everywhere just like any one else."

"Shut up!" cried Maggie. "Oh, no! I don't think any one ought to be
shut up for anything."

"My dear Maggie!" said Paul in his fatherly protecting voice. "No
prisons? Think what would become of us all."

"Oh!" said Maggie impatiently, "I'm not practical of course, I don't
know what one should do, but I do know that no one should be shut up."

"Chut-chut--" said Grace.

Now this "Chut, chut," may seem a very little thing, but very little
things are sometimes of great importance. Marriages have been wrecked
on an irritating cough and happy homes ruined by a shuffle. Grace had
said "Chut, chut," for a great many years and to many people. It
expressed scorn and contempt and implied a vast store of superior
knowledge. Grace herself had no idea of the irritating nature of this
exclamation, she would have been entirely amazed did you explain to her
that it had more to do with her unpopularity in Skeaton than any other
thing. She had even said "Chut, chut," to Mrs. Constantine.

But she said it to Maggie more than to any other person. When she had
been in the house a few days she said to her brother:

"Paul, Maggie's much younger than I had supposed."

"Oh, do you think so?" said Paul.

"Yes, I do. She knows nothing about anything. She's been nowhere. She's
seen nobody ... Poor child."

It was the "poor child" position that she now, during these first
weeks, adopted. She was very, very kind to Maggie.