, although she was conscious of
her aunt's covert sympathy for something that troubled her which she
did not know about, and grateful for it, that she should die of shame
if Aunt Maria did know. After supper that night she returned to her
own room. She said she had some essays to correct.

"Well, I guess I'll step into the other side a minute," said Aunt
Maria. "Eunice went to the sewing-meeting this afternoon, and I want
to know what they put in that barrel for that minister out West. I
don't believe they had enough to half fill it. Of all the things they
sent the last time, there wasn't anything fit to be seen."

Maria seated herself in her own room, beside her tiny stove. She had
a pink shade on her lamp, which stood on her little centre-table. The
exercises were on the table, but she had not touched them when she
heard doors opening and shutting below, then a step on the stairs.
She knew at once it was Lily. Her room door opened, after a soft
knock, and Lily glided gracefully in.

"I knew you were up here, dear," she said. "I saw your light, and I
saw your aunt's sitting-room lamp go out."

"Aunt Maria has only gone in Uncle Henry's side. Sit down, Lily,"
said Maria, rising and returning Lily's kiss, and placing a chair for
her.

"Does she always put her lamp out when she goes in there?" asked Lily
with innocent wonder.

"Yes," replied Maria, rather curtly. That was one of poor Aunt
Maria's petty economies, and she was sensitive with regard to it. A
certain starvation of character, which had resulted from the lack of
material wealth, was evident in Aunt Maria, and her niece recognized
the fact with exceeding pity, and a sense of wrong at the hands of
Providence.

"How very funny," said Lily.

Maria said nothing. Lily had seated herself in the chair placed for
her, and as usual had at once relapsed into a pose which would have
done credit to an artist's model, a pose of which she was innocently
conscious. She cast approving glances at the graceful folds of
crimson cashmere which swept over her knees; she extended one little
foot in its pointed shoe; she raised her arms with a gesture peculiar
to her and placed them behind her head in such a fashion that she
seemed to embrace herself. Lily in crimson cashmere, which lent its
warm glow to her tender cheeks, and even seemed to impart a rosy
reflection to the gloss of her hair, was ravishing. To-night, too,
her face wore a new expression, one of triumphant ten