Mrs. Howland glanced at her daughter. Then all of a sudden, and quite unexpectedly, her faded face grew red. She perceived an expression of inquiry in Maggie's eyes which rather frightened her.

"It's all right," she said. "Now that you've brought the things up, Tildy, leave them here, and go. When Mr. Martin comes, show him up.

Now leave us, and be quick about it."

Tildy departed, slamming the door behind her.

"How noisy that girl is!" said Mrs. Howland. "Well, I am better now; I'll just go into our bedroom and get tidy. I'll be back in a few minutes. I mustn't be seen looking this fright when Mr. Martin comes."

"But who is Mr. Martin?" said Maggie.

"You will know presently," said Mrs. Howland. "It's about him that I have news."

Maggie felt her heart thumping in a very uncomfortable manner. The bedroom which she and her mother shared together--that is, when Maggie was with her mother--was at the back of the drawing-room. Mrs. Howland remained there for about five minutes, and during that time Maggie helped herself to a cup of tea, for she was feverishly hot and thirsty.

Her mother returned at the end of five minutes, looking wonderfully better, and in fact quite rejuvenated. Her dress was fairly neat. She had a slight color in her pale cheeks which considerably brightened her light-blue eyes. Her faded hair was arranged with some neatness, and she had put on a white blouse and a blue alpaca skirt.

"Oh mother," said Maggie, hailing this change with great relief, "how much better you look now! I am a comfort to you, am I not, mums? I sha'n't mind coming back and giving up all my fun if I am a real comfort to you."

"I wouldn't have sent for you but for Mr. Martin," said Mrs. Howland.

"It was he who wished it. Yes, I am much better now, though I cannot honestly say that you are the cause. It's the thought of seeing Mr.

Martin that cheers me up; I must be tidy for him. Yes, you may pour out a cup of tea for me; only see that you keep some really strong tea in the teapot for Mr. Martin, for he cannot bear it weak. He calls weak tea wish-wash."

"But whoever is this mysterious person?" said Maggie.

"I will tell you in a minute or two. You may give me one of those little cakes. No, I couldn't stand m.u.f.fins; I hate them in hot weather. Besides, my digestion isn't what it was; but I shall be all right by-and-by; so will you too, my dear. And what I do, I do for you."

"Well, I wish you would tell me what you are doing for me, and get it over," said Maggie. "You were always very peculiar, mums, always--even when dear father was alive--and you're not less so now."

"That's a very unkind way for a child to speak of her parent," said Mrs. Howland; "but I can a.s.sure you, Maggie, that Mr. Martin won't allow it in the future."

Maggie now sprang to her feet.

"Good gracious, mother! What has Mr. Martin to do with me? Is he--is he--it cannot be, mother!"

"Yes, I can," said Mrs. Howland. "I may as well have it out first as last. I am going to marry Mr. Martin."

"Mother!"

There was a wailing cry in Maggie's voice. No girl can stand with equanimity her mother marrying a second time; and as Maggie, with all her dreams of her own future, had never for an instant contemplated this fact, she was simply staggered for a minute or two.

"You will have to take it in the right spirit, my dear," said her mother. "I can't stand this life any longer. I want money, and comforts, and devotion, and the love of a faithful husband, and Mr.

Martin will give me all these things. He is willing to adopt you too.

He said so. He has no children of his own. I mean, when I say that, that his first family are all settled in life, and he says that he wouldn't object at all to a pleasant, lively girl in the house. He wants you to leave school."

"Leave Aylmer House!" said Maggie. "Oh no, mother!"

"I knew you'd make a fuss about it," said Mrs. Howland. "He has a great dislike to what he calls fine folks. He speaks of them as daisies, and he hates daisies."

"But, mother--mother dear--before he comes, tell me something about him. Where did you meet him? Who is he? A clergyman--a barrister? What is he, mother?"

Mrs. Howland remained silent for a minute. Then she pressed her hand to her heart. Then she gave way to a burst of hysterical laughter.

"Just consider for a minute, Maggie," she said, "what utter nonsense you are talking. Where should I be likely to meet a clergyman or a barrister? Do clergymen or barristers or people in any profession come to houses like this? Do talk sense when you're about it."

"Well, tell me what he is, at least."

"He is in--I am by no means ashamed of it--in _trade_."

Now, it so happened that it had been duly impressed upon Maggie's mind that Mr. Cardew of Meredith Manor was also, so to speak, in trade; that is, he was the sleeping partner in one of the largest and wealthiest businesses in London. Maggie therefore, for a minute, had a glittering vision of a great country-house equal in splendor to Meredith Manor, where she and her mother could live together. But the next minute Mrs. Howland killed these glowing hopes even in the moment of their birth.

"I want to conceal nothing from you," she said. "Mr. Martin keeps the grocer's shop at the corner. I may as well say that I met him when I went to that shop to get the small articles of grocery which I required for my own consumption. He has served me often across the counter. Then one day I was taken rather weak and ill in the shop, and he took me into his back-parlor, a very comfortable room, and gave me a gla.s.s of excellent old port; and since then, somehow, we have been friends. He is a widower, I a widow. His children have gone into the world, and each one of them is doing well. My child is seldom or never with her mother. It is about a week ago since he asked me if I would accept him and plenty, instead of staying as I am--a genteel widow with so little money that I am half-starved. His only objection to our marriage is the thought of you, Maggie; for he said that I was bringing you up as a fine lady, with no provision whatever for the future. He hates fine ladies, as he calls them; in fact, he is dead nuts against the aristocracy."

"Oh mother!" wailed poor Maggie; "and my father was a gentleman!"

"Mr. Martin has quite a gentlemanly heart," said Mrs. Howland. "I don't pretend for a moment that he is in the same position as my late lamented husband; but he is ten times better off, and we shall live in a nice little house in Clapham, and I can have two servants of my own; he is having the house refurnished and repapered for me--in his own taste, it is true, for he will not hear of what he calls Liberty rubbish. But it is going to be very comfortable, and I look forward to my change of surroundings with great satisfaction."

"Yes, mother," said Maggie, "you always did think of yourself first.

But what about me?"

"You had better not talk to me in that strain before Mr. Martin. He is very deeply devoted to me," said Mrs. Howland; "and do not imagine that we have not given you careful consideration. He is willing to adopt you, but insists on your leaving Aylmer House and coming to Laburnum Villa at Clapham. From what he says, you are quite sufficiently educated, and your duty now is to look after your mother and your new father, to be pleasant to me all day long, and to be bright and cheerful with him when he comes back from business in the evening. If you play your cards well, Maggie, he will leave you well provided for, as he is quite rich--of course, not rich like those people you are staying near, but rich for his cla.s.s. I am very much pleased myself at the engagement. Our banns were called last Sunday in church, and we are to be married in a fortnight. After that, you had best stay on here until we desire you to join us at Laburnum Villa."

"I can't, mother," said Maggie. "I can't--and I won't."

"Oh, come, I hear a step on the stairs," said Mrs. Howland. "That is Mr. Martin. Now, you will restrain yourself for my sake."

There _was_ a step on the stairs--firm, solid, heavy. The drawing-room door was opened about an inch, but no one came in.

Mrs. Howland said in a low whisper to her daughter, "He doesn't know you have returned; he is very playful. Just stay quiet. He really is a most amusing person."

"Bo-peep!" said a voice at the door; and a round, shining, bald head was popped in and then disappeared.

"Bo-peep!" said Mrs. Howland in response.

She stood up, and there came over her faded face a waggish expression.

She held up her finger and shook it playfully. The bald head appeared again, followed immediately by a very round body. The playful finger continued to waggle.

"Ducksie dear!" said Mr. Martin, and he clasped Mrs. Howland in his arms.

Maggie gave a smothered groan.

"It's the child," said Mrs. Howland in a whisper. "She is a bit upset; but when she knows you, James, she'll love you as much as I do."

"Hope so," said Mr. Martin. "I'm a duckle, Little-sing; ain't I, Victoria?" Here he chuckled the good lady under the chin. "Ah, and so this is Maggie?--How do, my dear? How do, Popsy-wopsy?"

"How do you do?" said Maggie.

"Come, come," said Mr. Martin. "No flights and vapors, no fine airs, no affected, mincing ways. A little girl should love her new parent. A little girl should kiss her new parent."