“The best thing you can do,” returned George. “Catch me trusting you to any one’s care again!”
In a short time Mrs. Verrall came in, and told George that her husband was waiting for him outside. George went out, and Mrs. Verrall sat down by Maria.
“It is Margery’s doings, Margery’s and George’s,” said Maria, as if she would apologize for being found on the sofa, covered up like an invalid. “They made me lie down.”
“Are you happy?” Mrs. Verrall somewhat abruptly asked.
“Happy?” repeated Maria, at a loss to understand the exact meaning of the words.
“Happy with George Godolphin. Are you and he happy with each other?”
A soft blush overspread Maria’s face; a light of love shone in her eyes. “Oh, so happy!” she murmured. “Mrs. Verrall, I wonder sometimes whether any one in the world is as happy as I am!”
“Because it struck me that you were changed; you look ill.”
“Oh, that!” returned Maria, with a rosier blush still. “Can’t you guess the cause of that, Mrs. Verrall? As George told you, I shall, I hope, look well again, after a time.”
Mrs. Verrall shrugged her shoulders with indifference. She had never lost her bloom from any such cause.