tell, and she
did not tell, it might all come right somehow in the end.

She looked at the crescent of the moon, and the great depth of light
of the star, and her own affairs seemed to quiet her with their very
littleness. What was little Maria Edgham and her ridiculous and
tragic matrimonial tangle compared with the eternal light of those
strange celestial things yonder? She would pass, and they would
remain. She became comforted. She even reflected that she was hungry.
She had not obeyed her father's injunction, and had eaten very little
luncheon. She thought with pleasure of the good dinner which would be
awaiting her. Then suddenly she remembered how she had talked to Her.
How would she be treated? But she remembered that Ida could not have
said anything against her to her father, or, if she had done so, it
had made no difference to him. She considered Ida's character, and it
seemed to her quite probable that she would make no further reference
to the subject. Ida was averse even to pursuing enmities, because of
the inconvenience which they might cause her. It was infinitely less
trouble to allow birds which had pecked at her to fly away than to
pursue them; then, too, she always remained unshaken in her belief in
herself. Maria's tirade would not in the least have disturbed her
self-love, and it is only a wound in self-love which can affect some
people. Maria was inclined to think that Ida would receive her with
the same coldly radiant smile as usual, and she was right. That
night, when she entered the bright parlor, glowing with soft lights
under art-shades, Ida, in her pretty house-gown--scarlet cashmere
trimmed with medallions of cream lace--greeted her in the same
fashion as she had always done. Evelyn ran forward with those squeals
of love which only a baby can accomplish. Maria, hugging her little
sister, saw that Ida's countenance was quite unchanged.

"So you have got home?" said she. "Is it very cold?"

"Not very," replied Maria.

"I have not been out, and I did not know," Ida said, in her usual
fashion of making commonplaces appear like brilliances.

"There may be a frost, I don't know," Maria said. She was actually
confused before this impenetrability. Remembering the awful things
she had said to Her, she was suddenly conscience-stricken as she saw
Ida's calm radiance of demeanor. She began to wonder if she had not
been mistaken, if Ida was not really much better than she herself.
She knew that is