She grew daily more like her brother Henry.  The family traits in each became more accentuated.  Each posed paradoxically as not being a poser.  Aunt Maria spoke her mind so freely and arrogantly that she was not much of a favorite in Amity, although she commanded a certain measure of respect from her strenuous exertions at her own trumpet, which more than half-convinced people of the accuracy of her own opinion of herself.  Sometimes Maria herself was irritated by her aunt, but she loved her dearly.  She was always aware, too, of Aunt Maria’s unspoken, but perfect approbation and admiration for herself, Maria, and of a certain sympathy for her, which the elder woman had the delicacy never to speak of.  She had become aware that Maria, while she repulsed George Ramsey, was doing so for reasons which she could not divine, and that she suffered because of it.

One afternoon, not long after Christmas, when Maria returned from school, almost the first words which her aunt said to her were, “I do hate to see a young man made a fool of.”

Maria turned pale, and looked at her aunt.

“George Ramsey went past here sleigh-riding with Lily Merrill a little while ago,” said Aunt Maria.  “That girl’s making a fool of him!”

“Lily is a nice girl, Aunt Maria,” Maria said, faintly.

“Nice enough, but she can’t come up to him.  She never can.  And when one can’t come up, the other has to go down.  I’ve seen it too many times not to know.  There’s sleigh-bells now.  I guess it’s them coming back.  Yes, it is.”

Maria did not glance out of the window, and the sleigh, with its singing bells, flew past.  She went wearily up to her own room, and removed her wraps before supper.  Maria had a tiny coal-stove in her room now, and that was a great comfort to her.  She could get away by herself, when she chose, and sometimes the necessity for so doing was strong upon her.  She wished to think, without Aunt Maria’s sharp eyes upon her, searching her thoughts.  Emotion in Maria was reaching its high-water mark; the need for concealing, lest it be profaned by other eyes, was over her.  Maria felt, although she was conscious of her aunt’s covert sympathy for something that troubled her which she did not know about, and grateful for it, that she should die of shame if Aunt Maria did know.  After supper that night she returned to her own room.  She said she had some essays to correct.

“Well, I guess I’ll step into the other side a minute,” said Aunt Maria.  “Eunice went to the sewing-meeting this afternoon, and I want to know what they put in that barrel for that minister out West.  I don’t believe they had enough to half fill it.  Of all the things they sent the last time, there wasn’t anything fit to be seen.”

Maria seated herself in her own room, beside her tiny stove.  She had a pink shade on her lamp, which stood on her little centre-table.  The exercises were on the table, but she had not touched them when she heard doors opening and shutting below, then a step on the stairs.  She knew at once it was Lily.  Her room door opened, after a soft knock, and Lily glided gracefully in.