“Going home? Why?”
“He has come to see you, and I won't stay. I won't. I know you despised me for what I did the other night, and I won't do such a thing as to stay when he has come to see another girl. I am not quite as bad as that.” Lily started towards her cloak, which lay over a chair.
Maria seized her by the shoulders with a nervous grip of her little hands. “Lily Merrill,” said she, “if you stir, if you dare to stir to go home, I will not go to the door at all!”
Lily gasped and looked at her.
“I won't!” said Maria.
The bell rang a second time.
“You have got to go to the door,” said Maria, with a sudden impulse.
Lily quivered under her hands.
“Why? Oh, Maria!”
“Yes, you have. You go to the door, and I will run up-stairs the back way to my room. I don't feel well to-night, anyway. I have an awful headache. You go to the door, and if it is—George Ramsey, you tell him I have gone to bed with a headache, and you have come over to stay with me because Aunt Maria has gone away. Then you can ask him in.”