129 ". . . Feathers sent you a box of heather this morning . . ."
Kind, ugly Feathers! He, at least, had not forgotten her.
During the days that followed Marie suffered tortures of jealousy. Her overstrained imagination exaggerated things cruelly. She began to sleep badly, and a defiant look grew in her brown eyes. She encouraged young Atkins so openly that at last even Miss Chester was moved to remonstrate gently.
"My dear, I am afraid that nice boy is getting a little too fond of you?"
"Is he?" Marie laughed. "He's only a boy," she said carelessly.
Miss Chester looked pained.
"Boys have hearts as well as grown men," she said gently.
"More, sometimes," Marie answered flippantly.
But she knew that Miss Chester was right. She knew that lately there was a different light in young Atkins' eyes and a strange quality in his voice whenever he spoke to her.
Sometimes she was sorry—sometimes she told herself that she did not care! Why should she be the only one to suffer?