She also was conscious of an exceeding horror and terror, and a vague shame.

It was, to Maria, as if she had fallen through the fairy cobweb of romance and struck upon the hard ground of reality with such force that her very soul was bleeding.

Wollaston, in the smoker, wished no more devoutly that there were no girls in the world, than Maria wished there were no boys.

Her emotions had been, as it were, thrust back down her own throat, and she was choked and sickened with them.
She would not look at nor speak to Gladys.

Once, when Gladys addressed a remark to her, Maria thrust out an indignant shoulder towards her.
"You needn't act so awful mad," whispered Gladys.