“I hope you did not take it,” George Ramsey said, quickly.
“No.”
“I am glad of that. They are a bad lot. I don't know about this little girl. She may be a survival of the fittest, but take them all together they are a bad lot, if they are my relatives. Good-night, Miss Edgham, and I beg you not to distress yourself about it all.”
“I am very sorry if I was rude,” Maria said, and she spoke like a little girl.
“You were not rude at all,” George responded, quickly. “You were only all worked up over such suffering, and it did you credit. You were not rude at all.” He shook hands again with Maria. Then he asked if he might call and see her sometime. Maria said yes, and fled into the house.
She went into her aunt Maria's side of the house, and ran straight up-stairs to her own room. Presently she heard doors opening and shutting and knew that her aunt was curiously following her from the other side. She came to Maria's door, which was locked. Aunt Maria was not surprised at that, as Maria always locked her door at night—she herself did the same.
“Have you gone to bed?” called Aunt Maria.
“Yes,” replied Maria, who had, indeed, hurriedly hustled herself into bed.
“Gone to bed early as this?” said Aunt Maria.
“I am dreadfully tired,” replied Maria.