Maria said nothing. Lily had seated herself in the chair placed for her, and as usual had at once relapsed into a pose which would have done credit to an artist's model, a pose of which she was innocently conscious. She cast approving glances at the graceful folds of crimson cashmere which swept over her knees; she extended one little foot in its pointed shoe; she raised her arms with a gesture peculiar to her and placed them behind her head in such a fashion that she seemed to embrace herself. Lily in crimson cashmere, which lent its warm glow to her tender cheeks, and even seemed to impart a rosy reflection to the gloss of her hair, was ravishing. To-night, too, her face wore a new expression, one of triumphant tenderness, which caused her to look fairly luminous. "It has been a lovely day, hasn't it?" she said. "Very pleasant," said Maria. "Did you know I went sleigh-riding this afternoon?" "Did you?" "Yes; George took me out." "That was nice," said Maria. "We went to Wayland. The sleighing is lovely." "I thought it looked so," said Maria. "It is. Say, Maria!" "Well?" "He said things to me this afternoon that sounded as if he did mean them. He did, really." "Did he?" "Do you want me to tell you?" asked Lily, eying Maria happily and yet a little timidly. Maria straightened herself. "If you want to know what I really think, Lily," she said, "I think no girl should repeat anything a man says to her, if she does think he really means it. I think it is between the two. I think it should be held sacred. I think the girl cheapens it by repeating it, and I don't think it is fair to the man. I don't care to hear what Mr. Ramsey said, if you want the truth, Lily." Lily looked abashed. "I dare say you are right, Maria," she said, meekly. "I won't repeat anything he said if you don't think I ought, and don't want to hear it." "Is your new dress done?" asked Maria, abruptly. "It is going to be finished this week," said Lily. "Do you think I am horrid, proposing to tell you what he said, Maria?" "No, only I don't care to hear any more about it." "Well, I hope you don't think I am horrid." "I don't, dear," said Maria, with an odd sensation of tenderness for the other, weaker girl, whom she had handled in a measure roughly with her own stronger character. She looked admiringly at her as she spoke. "Nobody can ever really think you horrid," she said. "If they did, I should think I was horrid my own self," said Lily, with the ready acquiescence in the opinion of another which signified the deepest admiration, even to her own detriment, and was the redeeming note in her character. Maria laughed. "I declare, Lily," said she, "I hope you will never be accused of a crime, for I do believe even if you were innocent, you would side with the lawyer for the prosecution." "I don't know but I should," said Lily.