“Yes,” said Parker, “so very beautiful that it seemed a pity that you and I should stay indoors, with plenty of walks to be taken and—” Marguerite interrupted him with a sarcastic laugh. “With so much pity and so many walks, Mr. Parker, why don’t you take a few of them!” she said. (“Good Lord!” said I. “This is the worst act of rebellion yet. She seems beside herself.” “Read on!” said Harley, in sepulchral tones.) This was Parker’s opportunity. “I am not fond of walking, Miss Andrews,” he said; and then he added, quickly, “that is, alone—I don’t like anything alone. Living alone, like walking alone, is—” “Let’s go walking,” said Marguerite, shortly, as she rose up from her chair. “I’ll be down in two minutes. I only need to put my hat on.” Parker acquiesced, and Miss Andrews walked majestically out of the parlor and went up-stairs. “Confound it!” muttered Parker, as she left him. “A minute more, and I’d have known my fate.” (“You see,” said Harley, “I’d made up my mind that that proposal should take place in that chapter, and I thought I’d worked right up to it, in spite of all Miss Andrews’s disagreeable remarks when, pop—off she goes to put on her hat.” “Oh—as for that—that’s all right,” said I. “Parker had suggested the walk, and a girl really does like to stave off a proposal as long as she can when she knows it is sure to come. Furthermore, it gives you a chance to describe the hat, and so make up for a few of the words you lost when she refused to discuss ball-dresses with Mrs. Willard.” “I never thought of that; but don’t you think I worked up to the proposal skilfully?” asked Harley. “Very,” said I. “But you’re dreadfully hard on Parker. It would have been better to have had the butler fire him out, head over heels. He could have thrashed the butler for doing that, but with your heroine his hands were tied.” “Go on and read,” said Harley.) “She must have known what I was driving at,” Parker reflected, as he awaited her return. “Possibly she loves me in spite of this frigid behavior. This may be her method of concealing it; but if it is, I must confess it’s a case of ‘Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, But—why did you kick me down-stairs?’ Certainly, knowing, as she now must, what my feelings are, her being willing to go for a walk on the cliffs, or anywhere, is a favorable sign. (“Parker merely echoed my own hope in that remark,” said Harley. “If I could get them engaged, I was satisfied to do it in any way that might be pleasing to her.”) A moment later Marguerite appeared, arrayed for the walk. Parker rose as she entered and picked up his gloves. “You are a perfect picture this morning,” said he. “I’m ready,” she said, shortly, ignoring the compliment. “Where are we scheduled to walk?—or are we to have something to say about it ourselves?” Parker looked at her with a wondering smile. The aptness of the remark did not strike him. However, he was equal to the occasion.