Maggie flew and opened the door. "I am sorry," she said. "I was a good deal upset about those detestable clothes. I am writing to my mother. Please, Lucy, let me finish the letter. When it's done--and I won't be a minute longer--I'll put it in the post-box myself, so that it can go by the first post in the morning." "Very well, dear," said Lucy, who was too kind not to be good to any girl in the school; "only be quick, Maggie," she said, "for you know you are breaking the rules." "Yes! oh yes!" said Maggie; "and I will never do it again." Miss Johnson left her, and Maggie flew back to bend over her paper and continue her writing: "Darling, you must not let him come here. He threatens to come, but you must keep him away. All will be up with me if he is seen at the school. I beseech of you have a little mercy on me. For the sake of my own father, keep him--do keep him--from Aylmer House.--Your distracted daughter, "MAGGIE HOWLAND." This letter was addressed to Mrs. Martin (spelt this time with an "i"), Laburnum Villa, Clapham. Maggie stamped it, and, flying downstairs, popped it into the box which held the letters. CHAPTER XX. THE VILLA. Laburnum Villa, in the suburb of Clapham, was, in the new Mrs. Martin's eyes, quite a delightful place. She had never appreciated her first husband, Professor Howland, but she thoroughly appreciated Bo-peep, and after her own fashion was fond of him. He gave her comforts. She had lived so long without comforts that she appreciated these good things of life to the full. She had never really been much attached to Maggie, who was too like her own father and too unlike herself to allow of the existence of any sympathy between them. Maggie, even before Mrs. Howland met Martin the Shepherd's Bush grocer, had been more or less a thorn in the flesh to her mother. Laburnum Villa was furnished, as James Martin expressed it, with an eye to comfort. There were solid arm-chairs with deep seats and good springs, and these were covered with maroon-colored leather. There were thick, maroon-colored curtains to the dining-room windows, and all the furniture of the room was of solid oak. There was a rich Turkey carpet on the floor, and prints of different hunting scenes--by no means bad in their way--hanging on the walls. The paint-work of the room was of dull red, and the paper was of the same tone. It was a small room, and the furniture was large and heavy, but it represented in Martin's eyes the very essence of comfort. The fireplace was modern, and when it was piled up with goodly lumps of coal it caused a warmth to pervade the whole room which, as Mrs. Martin expressed it, was very stimulating. The house had electric light, which both Mr. and Mrs. Martin considered distinguished.