some pretty, new clothes. Do you
think I am very silly, Maria?"

"I dare say most girls feel so," said Maria, patiently.

As she spoke she looked away from the other girl at the wintry
landscape. There was to the eastward of Amity a low range of hills,
hardly mountains. These were snow-covered, and beneath the light of
the setting sun gave out wonderful hues and lights of rose and blue
and pearl. It was to Maria as if she herself, being immeasurably
taller than Lily and the other girls whom she typified, could see
farther and higher, even to her own agony of mind. It is a great deal
for a small nature to be pleased with the small things of life. A
large nature may miss a good deal in not being pleased with them.
Maria realized that she herself, in Lily's place, could have no grasp
of mind petty enough for pink and blue tea-gowns, that she had
outgrown that stage of her existence. She still liked pretty things,
but they had now become dwarfed by her emotions, whereas, in the case
of the other girl, the danger was that the emotions themselves should
become dwarfed. Lily was typical, and there is after all a certain
security as to peace and comfort in being one of a kind, and not
isolated.

Lily talked about her bridal wardrobe all the way until they reached
the Ramsey house; then she glanced up at the windows and bowed,
dimpling and blushing. "That's his mother," she said to Maria. "I
wonder if George has told her."

"I should think he must have," said Maria.

"I am so glad you think she will like me. I wonder what room we shall
have, and whether there will be new furniture. I don't know how the
up-stairs rooms are furnished, do you?"

"No, how should I? I was never up-stairs in the house in my life,"
said Maria. Again she gazed away from Lily at the snow-covered hills.
Her face wore an expression of forced patience. It really seemed to
her as if she were stung by a swarm of platitudes like bees.

Lily kissed her at her door. "I should ask if I couldn't come over
this evening, and sit up in your room and talk it over," said she,
"but I suppose he will be likely to come. He didn't say so, but I
suppose he will."

"I should judge so," said Maria.

When she entered the sitting-room, her aunt, who was knitting with a
sort of fierce energy, looked up. "Oh, it's you!" said she. Her face
had an expression of hostility and tenderness at once.

"Yes, Aunt Maria."

Aunt Maria surveyed her scrutinizingly. "You don't