“As long as you have not refused him,” said Milly, breathing again. “All the same, I call you a very odd girl.”
But Mary was troubled, Milly perplexed.
“You ought to be the happiest creature alive. What’s the matter?”
“I’m thinking of his friends.”
“If they choose to be stupid, it’s their own lookout.”
“It mayn’t be stupidity,” said Mary, giving her handkerchief a bite. “I know nothing about him, except——”
“Except?”
“That he’s above me socially.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” said Milly robustly. “If they like to be snobs it’s their own funeral.”
But Mary, having burned her boats, was afflicted now by Cousin Blanche and Cousin Marjorie. They were looking down upon her from their tall horses. It was not that she feared them in the least, but she knew that lurking somewhere in an oddly constituted mind was a certain awe of the things for which they stood.