Still Ann Eliza did not understand. She rose hesitatingly from her seat, pushing aside the basket of buttons which lay between them; then she perceived that Mr. Ramy was trying to take her hand, and as their fingers met a flood of joy swept over her. Never afterward, though every other word of their interview was stamped on her memory beyond all possible forgetting, could she recall what he said while their hands touched; she only knew that she seemed to be floating on a summer sea, and that all its waves were in her ears. “Me--me?” she gasped. “I guess so,” said her suitor placidly. “You suit me right down to the ground, Miss Bunner. Dat's the truth.” A woman passing along the street paused to look at the shop-window, and Ann Eliza half hoped she would come in; but after a desultory inspection she went on. “Maybe you don't fancy me?” Mr. Ramy suggested, discountenanced by Ann Eliza's silence. A word of assent was on her tongue, but her lips refused it. She must find some other way of telling him. “I don't say that.” “Well, I always kinder thought we was suited to one another,” Mr. Ramy continued, eased of his momentary doubt. “I always liked de quiet style--no fuss and airs, and not afraid of work.” He spoke as though dispassionately cataloguing her charms. Ann Eliza felt that she must make an end. “But, Mr. Ramy, you don't understand. I've never thought of marrying.” Mr. Ramy looked at her in surprise. “Why not?” “Well, I don't know, har'ly.” She moistened her twitching lips. “The fact is, I ain't as active as I look. Maybe I couldn't stand the care. I ain't as spry as Evelina--nor as young,” she added, with a last great effort. “But you do most of de work here, anyways,” said her suitor doubtfully. “Oh, well, that's because Evelina's busy outside; and where there's only two women the work don't amount to much. Besides, I'm the oldest; I have to look after things,” she hastened on, half pained that her simple ruse should so readily deceive him. “Well, I guess you're active enough for me,” he persisted. His calm determination began to frighten her; she trembled lest her own should be less staunch. “No, no,” she repeated, feeling the tears on her lashes. “I couldn't, Mr. Ramy, I couldn't marry. I'm so surprised. I always thought it was Evelina--always. And so did everybody else. She's so bright and pretty--it seemed so natural.” “Well, you was all mistaken,” said Mr. Ramy obstinately. “I'm so sorry.” He rose, pushing back his chair. “You'd better think it over,” he said, in the large tone of a man who feels he may safely wait. “Oh, no, no. It ain't any sorter use, Mr. Ramy. I don't never mean to marry. I get tired so easily--I'd be afraid of the work. And I have such awful headaches.” She paused, racking her brain for more convincing infirmities. “Headaches, do you?” said Mr. Ramy, turning back.