“Maria, I hear that Mrs. Hastings has declined to go to the Folly on Thursday. What’s that for?”
“I don’t know,” replied Maria. “We do not go very much amidst those unusually grand scenes,” she added, laughing. “Mamma says she always feels as much out of place in them as a fish does out of water. And I think, if papa had his own wish, we should never go within a mile of anything of the sort. He likes quiet social visiting, but not such entertainments as the Verralls give. He and mamma were consulting for a few minutes over the invitation, and then she directed Grace to write and decline it.”
“It is an awful shame!” responded George. “I thought I should have had you with me for a few hours that day, at any rate, Maria.”
Maria lifted her eyes. “It had nothing to do with me, George. I was not invited.”
“Not invited!” repeated George Godolphin.
“Only Grace. ‘Mrs. and Miss Hastings.’”
“What was that for?” he exclaimed. “Why were you left out?”
“I do not know,” replied Maria, bending her eyelids and speaking with involuntary hesitation. In her heart of hearts, Maria believed that she did know: but the last person she would have hinted it to, was George Godolphin. “Perhaps,” she added, “it may have been an omission, an oversight? Or, they may have so many to invite that they can only dispense their cards charily.”
“Moonshine!” cried George. “I shall take upon myself to ask Mrs. Verrall why you were left out.”
“Oh, George! pray don’t,” she uttered, feeling an invincible repugnance to have her name brought up in any such way. “Why should you? Had the invitation been sent to me, I should not have gone.”