Everybody, including herself, considered that
she had a good "place," and was well treated. It was undeniable,
for instance, that she was allowed to fall in love exactly as she
chose, provided she did not "carry on" in the kitchen or the yard.
And as a fact, Maggie had fallen in love. In seventeen years she
had been engaged eleven times. No one could conceive how that ugly
and powerful organism could softly languish to the undoing of even
a butty-collier, nor why, having caught a man in her sweet toils,
she could ever be imbecile enough to set him free. There are,
however, mysteries in the souls of Maggies. The drudge had
probably been affianced oftener than any woman in Bursley. Her
employers were so accustomed to an interesting announcement that
for years they had taken to saying naught in reply but 'Really,
Maggie!' Engagements and tragic partings were Maggie's pastime.
Fixed otherwise, she might have studied the piano instead.
"No gloves, of course!" Sophia criticized.
"Well, you can't expect her to have gloves," said Constance.
Then a pause, as the bonnet and dress neared the top of the
Square.
"Supposing she turns round and sees us?" Constance suggested.
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