Maggie swung round in
her chair to pick up her bracelets, which had slipped from her knees to
the floor.
"You exaggerate things," she said quietly. "I see no reason to suppose
that Paul is unhappy. It is because you have taken this unreasoning
dislike to her."
She took a long time to collect three bracelets. Then she rose and
placed them on the dressing-table.
"Do you want me to go?" asked Catrina, in her blunt way.
"No," answered Maggie, civilly enough; but she extracted a couple of
hair-pins rather obviously.
Catrina heeded the voice and not the action.
"You English are all alike," she said. "You hold one at arm's length. I
suppose there is some one in England for whom you care--who is out of
all this--away from all the troubles of Russia. This has nothing to do
with your life. It is only a passing incident--a few weeks to be
forgotten when you go back. I wonder what he is like--the man in
England. You need not tell me. I am not curious in that way. I am not
asking you to tell me. I am just wondering. For I know there is some
one. I knew it when I first saw you. You are so quiet, and settled, and
self-contained--like a person who has played a game and knows for
certain that it is lost or won, and does not want to play again. Your
hair is very pretty; you are very pretty, you quiet English girl.
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