hesitated,
regarding him with her pale, pinched face. Evelyn took it for granted
that Mr. Lee's invitation was only on her account, and that Maria was
asked simply as a chaperon, and because, indeed, he could not very
well avoid it. She jumped up and got her hat.

"It will be perfectly lovely," she said, and faced them both, her
charming face one glow of delight.

But Maria did not rise. She looked at the basket of luncheon which
she had begun to unpack, and replied, coldly, "Thank you, Mr. Lee,
but we have our luncheon with us."

Wollaston looked at her in a puzzled way.

"But you could have something hot at the restaurant," he said. The
words were not much, but in reality he meant, and Maria so understood
him, "Why, what do you mean, after last night? You know how I feel
about you. Why do you refuse?"

Maria took another sandwich from her basket. "Thank you for asking
us, Mr. Lee," she said, "but we have our luncheon."

Her tone was fairly hostile. The hostility was not directed towards
him, but towards the weakness in herself. But that he could not
understand.

"Very well," he said, in a hurt manner. "Of course I will not urge
you, Miss Edgham." Then he walked out of the room, hollowing his back
and holding his head very straight in a way he had had from a boy
when he was offended.

Evelyn pulled off her hat with a jerk. She looked at Maria with her
eyes brilliant with tears. "I think you were mean, sister," she
whispered, "awful mean; so there!"

"I thought it was better not to go," Maria replied. Her tone was at
once stern and pitiful. Evelyn noticed only her sternness. She began
to weep softly.

"There, he wanted me, too," she said, "and of course he had to ask
you, and you knew--I think you might have, sister."

"I thought it was better not," repeated Maria. "Now, dear, you had
better eat your luncheon."

"I don't want any luncheon."

Maria began to eat a sandwich herself. There was an odd meekness and
dejectedness in her manner. Presently she laid the half-eaten
sandwich on the table and took out her handkerchief, and shook all
over with helpless and silent sobs.

Then Evelyn looked at her, her pouting expression relaxed gradually.
She looked bewildered.

"Why, what are you crying for?" she asked, in a low voice.

Maria did not answer.

Presently Evelyn rose and went over to her sister, and laid her cheek
alongside hers and kissed her.

"Don't, sister," she whispered. "I am sorry. I did