"Fiddlesticks," said Miss Avies. "Your life's your own, not your aunts'." She sat down and stayed bolt upright and motionless near the fire; she flung a thin dark shadow like a stain on the wall. There was a long pause between them. After that abrupt opening there seemed to be nothing to say. Maggie's thoughts also were elsewhere. She was wishing now passionately that she had not given that note to Caroline. Suddenly Miss Avies said, "What do you do with yourself all day?" Maggie laughed. "Try and make myself less careless, Miss Avies." Miss Avies replied, "You'll never make yourself less careless. We are as we are." "But don't you think," said Maggie, "that one can cure one's faults?" "One gets rid of one only to make room for another ... But that doesn't matter. The point is that one should have an ambition. What's your ambition, child?" Maggie didn't answer. Her ambition was Martin, but she couldn't tell Miss Avies so. At last, after a long pause, as Miss Avies still seemed to be waiting, she answered: "I suppose that I want to earn my living--to be independent." "Well, leave this place then," said Miss Avies. "There's no independence here." Then added, as though to herself. "They think they're looking for the face of God ... It's only for themselves and their vanity they're looking." Maggie said, to break another of the long pauses that seemed to be always forming between them: "I think every one ought to earn their own living, don't you?" Miss Avies shook her head. "You're very young--terribly young. I've got no advice to give you except to lead a healthy life somewhere away from these surroundings. We're an unnatural lot here and you're a healthy young creature ... Have you got a lover?" Maggie smiled. "I've got a friend," she said. Miss Avies sighed. "That's more than I've got," she said. "Not that I've time for one," she added. She got up. "I won't wait for your aunt," she said, "I've left a note downstairs ... You clear out as soon as you can, that's my advice to you." She said good-bye, looking into Maggie's clear eyes. She was suddenly less inhuman, the touch of her hand was warmer. "Don't you cheat yourself into believing in the Deity," she said, and was gone. When Friday arrived Maggie had not seen Caroline again, and she could not tell whether the note had been safely delivered or no. She was not sure what she had better do. Caroline might hare done anything with the note, torn it up, burnt it, lost it, forgotten it altogether. Well, that was a risk that Maggie must take. If he did not appear she would wait a little while and then come away. They must soon meet in any case. They had all their lives before them. Aunt Anne was up again--very, very pale now and so thin that the light seemed to shine through her making her more of a stained window saint than ever.