"You've hated my being here, Maggie ... all this time I've seen it. You've hated me. You don't know that you owe everything to me, that you couldn't have managed the house, the shops, the servants--nothing, nothing. This last year I've worked my fingers to the bone for you and Paul. What do you think I get out of it? Nothing. It's because I love Paul ... because I love Paul. But you've hated my doing things better than you, you've wanted me to fail, you've been jealous, that's what you've been. Very well, then, I'll go. You've made that plain enough at any rate. I'll leave to-morrow. I won't wait another hour. And I'll never forgive you for this--never. You've taken Paul away from me ... all I've ever had. I'll never forgive you--never, never, never." "Grace, Grace," cried Paul. But she rushed from the room. Maggie looked at her husband. "Why, Paul," she said, "you're frightened. Grace doesn't mean it. She won't go to-morrow--or ever. There's nothing to be frightened of." His red cheeks were pale. His hands trembled. "I do so hate quarrels," he said. Maggie went up to him and rather timidly put her hand on his arm. "We'll have a lovely time at Harben," she said. "Oh, I do want you to be happy, Paul." CHAPTER VI THE BATTLE OF SKEATON SECOND YEAR Strangely enough Maggie felt happier after this disturbance. Grace, in the weeks that followed, was an interesting confusion of silent and offended dignity and sudden capitulations because she had some news of fussing interest that she must impart. Nevertheless she was deeply hurt. She was as tenacious of her grievances as a limpet is of its rock, and she had never been so severely wounded before. Maggie, on her side, liked Grace better after the quarrel. She had never really disliked her, she had only been irritated by her. She thought it very natural of her to be angry and jealous about Paul. She was determined that this month at Little Harben should put everything right. Looking back over these past years she blamed herself severely. She had been proud, self-centred, unfeeling. She remembered that day so long ago at St. Dreot's when Aunt Anne had appealed for her affection and she had made no reply. There had been many days, too, in London when she had been rebellious and hard. She thought of that night when Aunt Anne had suffered so terribly and she had wanted only her own escape. Yes--hard and unselfish that was what she had been, and she had been punished by losing Martin. Already here, just as before in London, she was complaining and angry, and unsympathetic. She did care for Paul--she could even love Grace if she would let her. She would make everything right this summer and try and be a better, kinder woman.