Maud laughed her aggravating laugh again.
“Well, maybe it was just as well she did,” she said, “or else they would have said you and Wollaston had eloped, sure.”
Maria began to speak, but her voice was drowned by the rumble of the New York train on the other track. The Wardway train was late. Usually the two trains met at the station.
However, the New York train had only just pulled out of sight before the Wardway train came in. As Maria climbed on the train she felt a paper thrust forcibly into her hand, which closed over it instinctively. She sat with Maud, and had no opportunity to look at it all the way to Wardway. She slipped it slyly into her Algebra.
Maud's eyes were sharp. “What's that you are putting in your Algebra?” she asked.
“A marker,” replied Maria. She felt that Maud's curiosity was such that it justified a white lie.
She had no chance to read the paper which Wollaston had slipped into her hand until she was fairly in school. Then she read it under cover of a book. It was very short, and quite manly, although manifestly written under great perturbation of spirit.
Wollaston wrote: “Shall I tell your folks to-night?”
Wollaston was not in Maria's classes. He was older, and had entered in advance. She had not a chance to reply until noon. Going into the restaurant, she in her turn slipped a paper forcibly into his hand.
“Good land! look out!” said Maud Page. “Why, Maria Edgham, you butted right into Wollaston Lee and nearly knocked him over.”