Maria fastened on her hat carefully.  “I am very glad, dear,” she said.  She turned from the glass, and Lily’s face, smiling at her, seemed to give out light like a star.  It might not have been the highest affection which the girl, who was one of clear and limpid shadows rather than depths, felt; it might have had its roots in selfish ends; but it fairly glorified her.  Maria with a sudden impulse bent over her and kissed her.  “I am very glad, dear,” she said, “and now I must run, or I shall be late.  My coat is down-stairs.”

“Don’t say anything before your aunt Maria, will you?” said Lily, rising and following her.

“No, of course, if you don’t want me to.”

“Of course it will be all over town before night,” said Lily, “but someway I would rather your aunt Maria did not hear it from me.  She doesn’t like me a bit.”  Lily said the last in a whisper.

Both girls went down-stairs, and Maria took her coat from the rack in the hall.

Aunt Maria opened the sitting-room door.  She had a little satchel with Maria’s lunch.  “Here is your luncheon,” said she, in a hard tone, “and you’d better hurry and not stop to talk, or you’ll be late.”

“I am going right away, Aunt Maria,” said Maria.  She took the satchel, and kissed her aunt on her thin, sallow cheek.

“Good-morning, Miss Stillman,” said Lily, sweetly, as she followed Maria.

Aunt Maria said nothing at all; she gave Lily a grim nod, while her lips were tightly compressed.  She turned the key in the door with an audible snap.

“Well, good-bye, dear,” said Lily to Maria.  “I hope you will be as happy as I am some day, and I know you will.”

Lily’s face was entirely sweet and womanly as she turned it towards Maria for a kiss, which Maria gave her.

“Good-bye, dear,” she said, gently, and was off.

Nobody knew how glad she was to be off.  She had a stunned, shocked feeling; she realized that her knees trembled, but she held up her head straight and went on.  She realized that worse than anything else would be the suspicion on the part of any one that Lily’s engagement to George Ramsey troubled her.  All the time, as she hurried along the familiar road, she realized that strange, shocked feeling, as of some tremendous detonation of spirit.  She bowed mechanically to people whom she met.  She did not fairly know who they were.  She kept on her way only through inertia.  She felt that if she stopped to think, she would scarcely know the road to the school-house.  She wondered when she met a girl somewhat older than herself, just as she reached the bridge, if that girl, who was plain and poorly dressed, one of those who seem to make no aspirations to the sweets of life, if she had ever felt as she herself did.  Such a curiosity possessed her concerning it that she wished she could ask the girl, although she did not know her.  She dreaded lest Jessy Ramsey should run to meet her, and her dread was realized.  However, Maria was not as distressed by it as she thought.  She stooped and kissed Jessy quite easily.