"I think you had best be back to lunch," remarked Miss Schenectady as they left the room. "Of course, Aunt Zoë," answered Joe. "Besides, Sybil is coming, you know." So they sallied forth. It was a warm day; the snow had melted from the brick pavement, and the great icicles on the gutters and on the trees were running water in the mid-day sun. Joe thought a scene would be better to get over in the publicity of the street than in private. Ronald, all unsuspecting of her intention, walked calmly by her side, looking at her occasionally with a certain pride, mixed with a good deal of sentimental benevolence. "Do you know," Joe began presently, "when your cable came I felt very guilty at having written to you that you might come?" "Why?" asked Ronald, innocently. "You know I would come from the end of the world to see you. I have, in fact." "Yes, I know," said Joe wearily, wishing she knew exactly how to say what she was so thoroughly determined should be said. "What is the matter, Joe?" asked Ronald, suddenly. He smiled rather nervously, but his smooth brow was a little contracted. He anticipated mischief. "There is something the matter, Ronald," she said at last, resolved to make short work of the revelation of her feelings. "There is something very much the matter." "Well?" said Surbiton, beginning to be alarmed. "You know, Ronald dear, somehow I think you have thought--honestly, I know you have thought for a long time that you were to marry me." "Yes," said Ronald with a forced laugh, for he was frightened. "I have always thought so; I think so now." "It is of no use to think it, Ronald dear," said Joe, turning very pale. "I have thought of it too--thought it all over. I cannot possibly marry you, dear boy. Honestly, I cannot." Her voice trembled violently. However firmly she had decided within herself, it was a very bitter thing to say; she was so fond of him. "What?" asked Ronald hoarsely. But he turned red instead of pale. It was rather disappointment and anger that he felt at the first shock than sorrow or deep pain. "Do not make me say it again," said Joe, entreatingly. She was not used to entreating so much as to commanding, and her voice quavered uncertainly. "Do you mean to say," said Ronald, speaking loudly in his anger, and then dropping his voice as he remembered the passers-by,--"do you mean to tell me, Joe, after all this, when I have come to America just because you told me to, that you will not marry me? I do not believe it. You are making fun of me." "No, Ronald," Joe answered sorrowfully, but regaining her equanimity in the face of Surbiton's wrath, "I am in earnest. I am very, very fond of you, but I do not love you at all, and I never can marry you." Ronald was red in the face, and he trod fast and angrily, tapping the pavement with his stick. He was very angry, but he said nothing. "It is much better to be honest about it," said Joe, still very pale; and when she had spoken, her little mouth closed tightly.