“But, Maria, do you suppose George Ramsey thinks I am so pretty?”
“I should think he must, if he has eyes in his head,” replied Maria.
“But you are pretty yourself, Maria,” said Lily, with the most open jealousy and anxiety, “and you are smarter than I am, and he is so smart. I do think he cares a great deal more for you than for me. I think he must, Maria.”
“Nonsense!” said Maria. “Just because a young man walks home with me once you think he is in love with me.” Maria tried to speak lightly and scornfully, but in spite of herself there was an accent of gratification in her tone. In spite of herself she forgot for the moment.
“I think he does, all the same,” said Lily, dejectedly.
“Nonsense! He doesn't; and if he did, he would have to take it out in caring.”
“Then you were in earnest about what you said last night?” said Lily, eagerly. “You really mean you wouldn't have George Ramsey if he asked you?”
“Not if he asked every day in the year for a hundred years.”
“I guess you must have seen somebody else whom you liked,” said Lily, and Maria colored furiously. Then Lily laughed. “Oh, you have!” she cried, with sudden glee. “You are blushing like anything. Do tell me, Maria.”
“I have nothing to tell.”