The fore room was close and cool, for the windows had been shut all day to keep out the flies. There was a smell of mint and lavender. The great testered bedstead, with its chintz valance and curtains, stood in one corner. There was a high chest of drawers and a splendid carved oak linen chest, which Lydia’s grandmother had brought over from England. On one side of the fireplace was a great cupboard with panelled doors, and that was filled with gallipots. Lydia’s father had been a doctor. Lydia sat beside the window, opposite the minister. There was a restrained defiance in the lift of her chin. Now and then she picked a bit of the flax from her gown. She knew well why the minister had come. Aunt Nabby Keith had warned her. It was ten months since her banns with Freelove had been published, and she held herself aloof, and would not marry him out of sheer wilfulness and coquetry, the neighbors said. Freelove’s aunt Nabby had come to see her only the day before, and talked seriously with her. “You ain’t livin’ up to your professions,” the old woman had said, “and I’m going to speak plain. If you let this year go by and don’t marry Freelove according to your banns, you’ll have a good deal to answer for.” “Well, I’ll ask nobody else to answer for me,” Lydia returned. “The parson says he’s coming to reason with you, Lydia Hersey.” “Let him come,” said Lydia; and her head tossed up like a rose in a wind. And now the parson had come. It was some little space before he opened on the subject in hand. In truth, he stood somewhat in awe, although he did not know it, of this beautiful high-spirited young woman. There had been always a brisk feminine rule in his own house. Even now he sweltered under the weight of the green double cloak which his wife Sarah had hoisted upon his slender shoulders because she thought he had taken cold. The waistcoat, which she had made to suit her own ideas and not his requirements, bound his back; his neckcloth, which she had wound with ardor, half choked him and fretted his chin. When at length he reasoned with Lydia Hersey on the matter of her non-fulfilment of the marriage banns, and the report that she was about to let the lawful year go by and jilt Freelove Keith, it was with circumspect solemnity. Lydia’s cheeks flamed redder and redder, but her black eyes never left his face. “Did you meet Freelove Keith with that noisy crew, who ought to have been at home at work in the middle of the afternoon, shouting and blowing conch shells under Mr. Abraham White’s windows?” she demanded. The minister admitted that he had, and had remonstrated with them.