“I wanted the ride,” said Mary in a low voice; and growing very red she added, “I am afraid Mr. Perior will think me rude.”
“Oh, I will make your excuses!” Camelia, in all the impetus of her desire, was much vexed by this ungrateful doggedness.
“Mr. Perior and I could ride over and explain,” Mary added.
Camelia had never met in her cousin such opposition, and a certain dryness mingled with the real grievance in her voice as she said—
“Is your heart so set on this ride, Mary? Mr. Perior will take you out again, and you know that the pleasure is always rather one-sided, since he particularly likes a good gallop across country. It isn’t quite like you, I think, to disappoint a friend like Mrs. Grier—you are so fond of Mrs. Grier, I thought.”
During this speech Mary’s face grew crimson. Setting her lips, she began quickly to draw off her gloves; Camelia felt suddenly a sense of discomfort.
“You will enjoy it, I am sure, Mary.”
Mary made no reply, and silently unbuttoned her coat.
“I beg of you, Mary, not to go if you are going to feel aggrieved about it. I do not see what I am to do. I thought it would be quite a treat for you.”