Aunt Anne, although she never said anything about clothes, must, of course, notice such things, and if she loved Maggie as Mr.Magnus said she did, then she would "show her approval." The girl stood for a moment on the bottom step of the staircase looking at her aunt who was waiting for her in the little dark hall.
"Well, dear--I'm waiting," she said.
The burning eyes of Thomas the cat watched from the deep shadows.
"I'm so sorry.

I was dressing," said Maggie.
Her aunt said nothing more and they left the house.
Maggie, as always when she walked with Aunt Anne, was aware that they made a strange couple, she so short and the other so tall, she with her sturdy masculine walk, her aunt with her awkward halting movement.

They went in silence.
Maggie longed for a word of approval; a short sentence such as "How nice you're looking, Maggie," or "I like your dress, Maggie," or "That's a new dress, dear--I like it," would be enough.

After that Maggie felt that she could face a multitude of wild and savage Warlocks, that she could walk into the Warlock drawing-room with a fine brave carriage, above all, that she would feel a sudden warm affection for her aunt that would make all their future life together easy.
But Aunt Anne said nothing.

She looked exactly as she had looked upon her first appearance at St.Dreots, so thin and tall, with her pale tapering face and her eyes staring before her as though they saw nothing.
Maggie, as they turned up into Garrick Street, said: "I hope you like my new dress, aunt." Aunt Anne turned to her for a moment, smiled gently and then vaguely, as though her mind were elsewhere, answered: "I liked your old dress better, dear." Maggie's face flamed; her temper flared into her eyes.