Wollaston looked at her in a puzzled way.
“But you could have something hot at the restaurant,” he said. The words were not much, but in reality he meant, and Maria so understood him, “Why, what do you mean, after last night? You know how I feel about you. Why do you refuse?”
Maria took another sandwich from her basket. “Thank you for asking us, Mr. Lee,” she said, “but we have our luncheon.”
Her tone was fairly hostile. The hostility was not directed towards him, but towards the weakness in herself. But that he could not understand.
“Very well,” he said, in a hurt manner. “Of course I will not urge you, Miss Edgham.” Then he walked out of the room, hollowing his back and holding his head very straight in a way he had had from a boy when he was offended.
Evelyn pulled off her hat with a jerk. She looked at Maria with her eyes brilliant with tears. “I think you were mean, sister,” she whispered, “awful mean; so there!”
“I thought it was better not to go,” Maria replied. Her tone was at once stern and pitiful. Evelyn noticed only her sternness. She began to weep softly.
“There, he wanted me, too,” she said, “and of course he had to ask you, and you knew—I think you might have, sister.”
“I thought it was better not,” repeated Maria. “Now, dear, you had better eat your luncheon.”
“I don't want any luncheon.”