“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?’