said Maria.

"I thought I would make the cake this afternoon. I thought maybe you
would like it," said Aunt Maria, smiling. Her own pride was appeased.
The feeling that Maria, her niece whom she adored, had been slighted,
had rankled within her all day. Now she told herself that Maria did
not care; that she might have been foolish in not caring and taking
advantage of such a matrimonial chance, but that she did not care,
and that she consequently was not slighted.

"Well, I s'pose Lily told you the news this morning?" she said,
presently. "I s'pose that was why she wanted to see you. I s'pose she
was so tickled she couldn't wait to tell of it."

"You mean her engagement to Mr. Ramsey?" said Maria, helping herself
to more stew.

"Yes. Eunice came in and told before you'd been gone half an hour.
She'd been down to the store, and I guess Lily's mother had told it
to somebody there. I s'pose Adeline Merrill is tickled to death to
get Lily out of the way, now she's going to get married herself. She
would have had to give up her spare chamber if she hadn't."

"It seems to me a very nice arrangement," said Maria, taking a
spoonful of stew. "It would have been hard for poor Lily, and now she
will live with Mr. Ramsey and his mother, and Mrs. Ramsey seems to be
a lovely woman."

"Yes, she is," assented Aunt Maria. "She was built on a different
plan from Adeline Merrill. She came of better stock. But I don't see
what George Ramsey is thinking of, for my part."

"Lily is very pretty and has a very good disposition," said Maria. "I
think she will make him a good wife."

Aunt Maria sniffed. "Now, Maria Edgham," said she, "what's the use.
You know it's sour grapes he's getting. You know he wanted somebody
else."

"Whom?" asked Maria, innocently, sipping her chocolate.

"You know he wanted you, Maria Edgham."

"He got over it pretty quickly then," said Maria.

"Maybe he hasn't got over it. Lily Merrill is just one of the kind of
girls who lead a man on when they don't know they're being led. He is
proud, too; he comes of a family that have always held their heads
high. He wanted you."

"Nonsense!"

"You can't tell me. I know."

"Aunt Maria," said Maria, with sudden earnestness, "if you ever tell
such a thing as that out, I don't know what I shall do."

"I ain't going to have folks think you're slighted," said Aunt Maria.
She had made up her mind, in fact, to tell Eunice after supper.

"Slighted!" said Maria, an