nd
Ida found her somewhat superfluous, although Ida never made any
especial effort to entertain her father that Maria could see. She was
fond of fancy-work, and was embroidering a silk gown for herself. She
embroidered while Harry read the paper. She did not talk much. Maria
used to wonder that her father did not find it dull when he and She
were alone together of an evening. She looked at him reading his
paper, with frequent glances of admiration over it at his beautiful
wife, and thought that in his place, she should much prefer a woman
like her mother, who had kept things lively, even without company,
and even in a somewhat questionable fashion. However, Harry and Ida
themselves went out a good deal. People in Edgham aped city society,
they even talked about the "four hundred." The newly wedded pair were
frequent guests of honor at dinners and receptions, and Ida herself
was a member of the Edgham's Woman's Club, and that took her out a
good deal. Maria was rather lonely. Finally the added state and
luxury of her life, which had at first pleased her, failed to do so.
She felt that she hated all the new order of things, and her heart
yearned for the old. She began to grow thin; she did not sleep much
nor sleep well. She felt tired all the time. One day her father
noticed her changed looks.

"Why, Maria is getting thin!" said he.

"I think it is because she is growing tall," said Ida. "Everybody
seems thin when they are growing tall. I did myself. I was much
thinner than Maria at her age." She looked at Maria with her
invariable smile as she spoke.

"She looks very thin to me," Harry said, anxiously.

He himself looked thin and older. An anxious wrinkle had deepened
between his eyes. It was June, and the days were getting warm. He was
anxious about Ida's health also. Ida was not at all anxious. She was
perfectly placid. It did not seem to her that an overruling
Providence could possibly treat her unkindly. She was rather annoyed
at times, but still never anxious, and utterly satisfied with herself
to that extent that it precluded any doubt as to the final outcome of
everything.

Maria continued to lose flesh. A sentimental interest in herself and
her delicacy possessed her. She used to look at her face, which
seemed to her more charming than ever, although so thin, in the
glass, and reflect, with a pleasant acquiescence, on an early death.
She even spent some time in composing her own epitaph, and kept it
caref