Then she observed that now Tom was talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence than to anyone else. She felt a sharp pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her feet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to a girl almost at Tom’s elbow—with sham vivacity:
“Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn’t you come to Sunday-school?”
“I did come—didn’t you see me?”
“Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit?”
“I was in Miss Peters’ class, where I always go. I saw you .”
“Did you? Why, it’s funny I didn’t see you. I wanted to tell you about the picnic.”
“Oh, that’s jolly. Who’s going to