“I should think not, unless you were engaged,” said Maria.

“Of course not, but he has said several things to me.  Maybe he didn’t mean anything, but they sounded—­I thought I would like to tell you, Maria.  I have never told anybody, not even mother.  Once he said my name just suited me, and once he asked me if I thought married people were happier, and once he said he thought it was a doubtful experiment for a man to marry and try to live either with his wife’s mother or his own.  You know, if he married me, it would have to be one way or the other.  Do you think he meant anything, Maria?”

“I don’t know,” said Maria.  “I didn’t hear him.”

“Well, I thought he spoke as if he meant it, but, of course, a girl can never be sure.  I suppose men do say so many things they don’t mean.  Don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose they do.”

“Do you think he did, Maria?” asked Lily, piteously.

“My dear child, I told you I didn’t hear him, and I don’t see how I can tell,” repeated Maria, with a little impatience.  It did seem hard to her that she should be so forced into a confidence of this kind, but an odd feeling of protective tenderness for Lily was stealing over her.  She reached a certain height of nobility which she had never reached before, through this feeling.

“I know men so often say things when they mean nothing at all,” Lily said again.  “Perhaps he didn’t mean anything.  I know he has gone home with Agnes Sears several times, and he has talked to her a good deal when we have been at parties.  Do you think she is pretty, Maria?”

“Yes, I think she is quite pretty,” replied Maria.

“Do you think—­she is better-looking than—­I am?” asked Lily, feebly.

“No, of course I don’t,” said Maria.  “You are a perfect beauty.”

“Oh, Maria, do you think so?”

“Of course I do!  You know it yourself as well as I do.”

“No, honest, I am never quite sure, Maria.  Sometimes it does seem to me when I am dressed up that I am really better-looking than some girls, but I am never quite sure that it isn’t because it is I who am looking at myself.  A girl wants to think she is pretty, you know, Maria, especially if she wants anybody to like her, and I can’t ever tell.”

“Well, you can rest easy about that,” said Maria.  “You are a perfect beauty.  There isn’t a girl in Amity to compare with you.  You needn’t have any doubt at all.”

An expression of quite innocent and naive vanity overspread Lily’s charming face.  She cast a glance at herself in a glass which hung on the opposite wall, and smiled as a child might have done at her own reflection.  “Do you think this green dress is becoming to me?” said she.

“Very.”

“But, Maria, do you suppose George Ramsey thinks I am so pretty?”

“I should think he must, if he has eyes in his head,” replied Maria.

“But you are pretty yourself, Maria,” said Lily, with the most open jealousy and anxiety, “and you are smarter than I am, and he is so smart.  I do think he cares a great deal more for you than for me.  I think he must, Maria.”