"What is the other sort?"
"Why, an infinite capacity for doing without them. Like Wagner, you know. Well, I wish to be the Bach sort--the kind of thing that anyone ought to be able to do--only they can't."
Mabel smiled doubtfully.
"Lady Laura was saying--" she began presently.
Maggie's face turned suddenly severe.
"I don't wish to hear one word."
"But she's given it up," cried the girl. "She's given it up."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Maggie judicially. "And I hope now that she'll spend the rest of her days in sackcloth--with a scourge," she added. "Oh, did I tell you about Mrs. Nugent?"
"About the evening Laurie came home? Yes."
"Well, that's all right. The poor old dear got all sorts of things on her mind, when it leaked out. But I talked to her, and we went up together and put flowers on the grave, and I said I'd have a mass said for Amy, though I'm sure she doesn't require one. The poor darling! But ... but ... (don't think me brutal, please) how providential her death was! Just think!"
"Mrs. Baxter's coming home by the 6.10, isn't she?"
Maggie nodded.
"Yes; but you know you mustn't say a word to her about all this. In fact she won't have it. She's perfectly convinced that Laurie overworked himself--Laurie, overworked!--and that that was just all that was the matter with him. Auntie's what's called a sensible woman, you know, and I must say it's rather restful. It's what I want to be; but it's a far-off aspiration, I'm afraid, though I'm nearer it than I was."
"You mean she doesn't think anything odd happened at all?"
"Just so. Nothing at all odd. All very natural. Oh, by the way, Laurie swears he never put his nose inside her room that night, but I'm absolutely certain he did, and didn't know it."
"Where is Mr. Lawrence?"
"Auntie made him go abroad."
"And when does he come back?"
There was a perceptible pause.
"Mr. Lawrence comes back on Saturday evening," said Maggie deliberately.