“I wonder,” said Eunice. “I don't like the way she looks.”
“Well, don't say anything about it to Maria, for she will worry herself sick,” said Aunt Maria. “She sets her eyes by Evelyn.”
“Don't you think she notices?”
“No, she hasn't said a word about it.”
But Aunt Maria was wrong. Maria had noticed. That afternoon, returning from Westbridge, she looked anxiously down at her sister.
“Don't you feel well, dear?” she asked.
“Perfectly well,” Evelyn replied languidly, “only I am a little tired.”
“Perhaps it is the spring weather,” said Maria.
Evelyn nodded. It was the beginning of the spring term, and spring came like a flood that year. The trees fairly seemed to burst forth in green-and-rosy flames, and the shrubs in the door-yards bloomed so boldly that they shocked rather than pleased.
“I like the spring to come slowly, so one does not feel choked with it,” Evelyn said after a little, as she gazed out of the window. “There are actually daisies in that field. They have come too soon.” Evelyn spoke with an absurd petulance which was unusual with her.