directly, without seeing him, she
became aware that he was seated on her right and was furtively
glancing at her. A wild despair seized her at the thought that he
might offer to accompany her home, and how she must not allow it, and
how she wanted him to do so. She kept her head steadfastly averted.
The meeting dragged on. Men rose and spoke and prayed, at intervals
the out-of-tune piano was invoked. A woman behind Maria sang
contralto with a curious effect, as if her head were in a tin-pail.
There were odd, dull, metallic echoes about it which filled the whole
chapel. The woman's daughter had some cheap perfume on her
handkerchief, and she was incessantly removing it from her muff. A
man at the left coughed a good deal. Maria saw in front of her Lily
Merrill's graceful brown head, in a charming hat with red roses under
the brim, and a long, soft, brown feather. Lily's mother was not with
her. Dr. Ellridge did not attend evening meetings, and Mrs. Merrill
always remained at home in the hope that he might call.

After church was over, Maria stuck closely to her aunts. She even
pushed herself between them, but they did not abet her. Both Eunice
and Aunt Maria had seen George Ramsey, and they had their own views.
Maria could not tell how it happened, but at the door of the chapel
she found herself separated from both her aunts, and George Ramsey
was asking if he might accompany her home. Maria obeyed her
instincts, although the next moment she could have killed herself for
it. She smiled, and bowed, and tucked her little hand into the crook
of the young man's offered arm. She did not see her aunts exchanging
glances of satisfaction.

"It will be a real good chance for her," said Eunice.

"Hush, or somebody will hear you," said Maria, in a sharp, pleased
tone, as she and her sister-in-law walked together down the moonlit
street.

Maria did not see Lily Merrill's start and look of piteous despair as
she took George's arm. Lily was just behind her. Maria, in fact, saw
nothing. She might have been walking in a vacuum of emotion.

"It is a beautiful evening," said George Ramsey, and his voice
trembled a little.

"Yes, beautiful," replied Maria.

Afterwards, thinking over their conversation, she could not remember
that they had talked about anything else except the beauty of the
evening, but had dwelt incessantly upon it, like the theme of a song.

The aunts lagged behind purposely, and Maria went in Eunice's door.
Sh