When Evelyn went home that night she was very sober.  She would not eat her supper, and Maria was sure that she heard her sobbing in the night.  The next morning the child looked pale and wan, and Aunt Maria asked harshly if she were sick.  Evelyn replied no quickly.  When she and Maria were outside waiting for the trolley, Evelyn said, half catching her breath with a sob even then: 

“Mr. Lee didn’t speak a word to me all day yesterday.  I know he did not like it because we didn’t go to lunch with him.”

“Nonsense, dear,” said Maria.  Then she added, with an odd, secretive meaning in her voice:  “Don’t worry, precious.”

“I can’t help it,” said Evelyn.

When the term was about half finished it became evident to Maria that she and Evelyn must call upon Mrs. Lee, Wollaston’s mother.  She had put it off as long as she could, although all the other teachers had called, and Aunt Maria had kept urging her to do so.

“She is going to think it is awful funny if you don’t call,” she said, “when you used to live in the same place, too.”

In reality, Aunt Maria, now that George Ramsey had married, was thinking that Wollaston might be a good match for Maria, and she wished to prevent her marriage with Professor Lane should he return from Colorado cured.

At last Maria felt that she was fairly obliged to go, and one Saturday afternoon she and Evelyn went to Westbridge for the purpose.  Wollaston and his mother lived in an exceedingly pretty house.  Mrs. Lee had artistic taste, and the rooms were unusual though simple.  Maria looking about, felt a sort of homesick longing.  She realized how perfectly a home like this would have suited her.  As for Evelyn, she looked about with quick, bright glances, and she treated Mrs. Lee as if she were in love with her.  She was all the time wondering if Wollaston would possibly come in, and in lieu of him, she played off her innocent graces with no reserve upon his mother.  Wollaston did not come in.  He had gone to the city, but when he came home his mother told him of the call.

“Those Edgham girls who used to live in Edgham, the one who teaches in your school, and her sister, called this afternoon,” said she.

“Did they?” responded Wollaston.  He turned a page of the evening paper.  It was after dinner, and the mother and son were sitting in a tiny room off the parlor, from which it was separated by some eastern portieres.  There was a fire on the hearth.  The two windows, which were close together, were filled up with red and white geraniums.  There was a red rug, and the walls were lined with books.  Outside it had begun to snow, and the flakes drifted past the windows filled with red and white blossoms like a silvery veil of the storm.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lee.  Then she added, with a keen although covert glance at her son:  “I like the younger sister.”

“She is considered quite a beauty, I believe,” said Wollaston.