She ran out into the dark and rain-drenched garden, felt her way to an old and battered seat that had seen in older days dolls' tea-parties and the ravages of bad-temper, stared from it across the kitchen-garden to the lights of the village, that seemed to rock and shiver in the wind and rain.
She stared passionately at the lights, her heart beating as though it would suffocate her.

At last, her clothes soaked with the storm, her hair dripping, she returned to the house.

Her aunt was in the hall.
"My dear Maggie, where have you been ?" in a voice that was kind but aghast.
"In the garden," said Maggie, hating her aunt.
"But it's pouring with rain! You're soaking! You must change at once! Did you go out to find something ?" Maggie made no answer.

She stood there, her face sulky and closed, the water dripping from her.

Afterwards, as she changed her clothes, she reflected that there had been many occasions during these three days when her aunt would have felt irritation with her had she known her longer.