During the ensuing weeks Mr. Ramy, though his visits were asfrequent as ever, did not seem to regain his usual spirits. Hecomplained frequently of headache, but rejected Ann Eliza'stentatively proffered remedies, and seemed to shrink from anyprolonged investigation of his symptoms. July had come, with asudden ardour of heat, and one evening, as the three sat togetherby the open window in the back room, Evelina said: "I dunno what Iwouldn't give, a night like this, for a breath of real countryair.""So would I," said Mr. Ramy, knocking the ashes from his pipe.

　　"I'd like to be setting in an arbour dis very minute.""Oh, wouldn't it be lovely?""I always think it's real cool here--we'd be heaps hotter upwhere Miss Mellins is," said Ann Eliza.

　　"Oh, I daresay--but we'd be heaps cooler somewhere else," hersister snapped: she was not infrequently exasperated by Ann Eliza'sfurtive attempts to mollify Providence.

　　A few days later Mr. Ramy appeared with a suggestion whichenchanted Evelina. He had gone the day before to see his friend,Mrs. Hochmuller, who lived in the outskirts of Hoboken, and Mrs.

　　Hochmuller had proposed that on the following Sunday he shouldbring the Bunner sisters to spend the day with her.

　　"She's got a real garden, you know," Mr. Ramy explained, "widtrees and a real summer-house to set in; and hens and chickens too.

　　And it's an elegant sail over on de ferry-boat."The proposal drew no response from Ann Eliza. She was stilloppressed by the recollection of her interminable Sunday in thePark; but, obedient to Evelina's imperious glance, she finallyfaltered out an acceptance.

　　The Sunday was a very hot one, and once on the ferry-boat AnnEliza revived at the touch of the salt breeze, and the spectacle ofthe crowded waters; but when they reached the other shore, andstepped out on the dirty wharf, she began to ache with anticipatedweariness. They got into a street-car, and were jolted from onemean street to another, till at length Mr. Ramy pulled theconductor's sleeve and they got out again; then they stood in theblazing sun, near the door of a crowded beer-saloon, waiting foranother car to come; and that carried them out to a thinly settleddistrict, past vacant lots and narrow brick houses standingin unsupported solitude, till they finally reached an almost ruralregion of scattered cottages and low wooden buildings that lookedlike village "stores." Here the car finally stopped of its ownaccord, and they walked along a rutty road, past a stone-cutter'syard with a high fence tapestried with theatrical advertisements,to a little red house with green blinds and a garden paling.

　　Really, Mr. Ramy had not deceived them. Clumps of dielytra andday-lilies bloomed behind the paling, and a crooked elm hungromantically over the gable of the house.

　　At the gate Mrs. Hochmuller, a broad woman in brick-brownmerino, met them with nods and smiles, while her daughter Linda, aflaxen-haired girl with mottled red cheeks and a sidelong stare,hovered inquisitively behind her. Mrs. Hochmuller, leading the wayinto the house, conducted the Bunner sisters the way to herbedroom. Here they were invited to spread out on a mountainouswhite featherbed the cashmere mantles under which the solemnity ofthe occasion had compelled them to swelter, and when they had giventheir black silks the necessary twitch of readjustment, and Evelinahad fluffed out her hair before a looking-glass framed in pink-shell work, their hostess led them to a stuffy parlour smelling ofgingerbread. After another ceremonial pause, broken by politeenquiries and shy ejaculations, they were shown into the kitchen,where the table was already spread with strange-looking spice-cakesand stewed fruits, and where they presently found themselves seatedbetween Mrs. Hochmuller and Mr. Ramy, while the staring Lindabumped back and forth from the stove with steaming dishes.

　　To Ann Eliza the dinner seemed endless, and the rich farestrangely unappetizing. She was abashed by the easy intimacy ofher hostess's voice and eye. With Mr. Ramy Mrs. Hochmuller wasalmost flippantly familiar, and it was only when Ann Eliza picturedher generous form bent above his sick-bed that she could forgiveher for tersely addressing him as "Ramy." During one of the pausesof the meal Mrs. Hochmuller laid her knife and fork against theedges of her plate, and, fixing her eyes on the clock-maker's face,said accusingly: "You hat one of dem turns again, Ramy.""I dunno as I had," he returned evasively.

　　Evelina glanced from one to the other. "Mr. Ramy HASbeen sick," she said at length, as though to show that she also wasin a position to speak with authority. "He's complained veryfrequently of headaches.""Ho!--I know him," said Mrs. Hochmuller with a laugh, her eyesstill on the clock-maker. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Ramy?"Mr. Ramy, who was looking at his plate, said suddenly one wordwhich the sisters could not understand; it sounded to Ann Elizalike "Shwike."Mrs. Hochmuller laughed again. "My, my," she said, "wouldn'tyou think he'd be ashamed to go and be sick and never dell me, methat nursed him troo dat awful fever?""Yes, I SHOULD," said Evelina, with a spirited glanceat Ramy; but he was looking at the sausages that Linda had just puton the table.

　　When dinner was over Mrs. Hochmuller invited her guests tostep out of the kitchen-door, and they found themselves in a greenenclosure, half garden, half orchard. Grey hens followed by goldenbroods clucked under the twisted apple-boughs, a cat dozed on theedge of an old well, and from tree to tree ran the network ofclothes-line that denoted Mrs. Hochmuller's calling. Beyond theapple trees stood a yellow summer-house festooned with scarletrunners; and below it, on the farther side of a rough fence, theland dipped down, holding a bit of woodland in its hollow. It wasall strangely sweet and still on that hot Sunday afternoon, and asshe moved across the grass under the apple-boughs Ann Eliza thoughtof quiet afternoons in church, and of the hymns her mother had sungto her when she was a baby.

　　Evelina was more restless. She wandered from the well to thesummer-house and back, she tossed crumbs to the chickens anddisturbed the cat with arch caresses; and at last she expressed adesire to go down into the wood.

　　"I guess you got to go round by the road, then," said Mrs.

　　Hochmuller. "My Linda she goes troo a hole in de fence,but I guess you'd tear your dress if you was to dry.""I'll help you," said Mr. Ramy; and guided by Linda the pairwalked along the fence till they reached a narrow gap in itsboards. Through this they disappeared, watched curiously in theirdescent by the grinning Linda, while Mrs. Hochmuller and Ann Elizawere left alone in the summer-house.

　　Mrs. Hochmuller looked at her guest with a confidential smile.

　　"I guess dey'll be gone quite a while," she remarked, jerking herdouble chin toward the gap in the fence. "Folks like dat don'tnever remember about de dime." And she drew out her knitting.

　　Ann Eliza could think of nothing to say.

　　"Your sister she thinks a great lot of him, don't she?" herhostess continued.

　　Ann Eliza's cheeks grew hot. "Ain't you a teeny bit lonesomeaway out here sometimes?" she asked. "I should think you'd bescared nights, all alone with your daughter.""Oh, no, I ain't," said Mrs. Hochmuller. "You see I take inwashing--dat's my business--and it's a lot cheaper doing it outhere dan in de city: where'd I get a drying-ground like dis inHobucken? And den it's safer for Linda too; it geeps her outer destreets.""Oh," said Ann Eliza, shrinking. She began to feel a distinctaversion for her hostess, and her eyes turned with involuntaryannoyance to the square-backed form of Linda, still inquisitivelysuspended on the fence. It seemed to Ann Eliza that Evelina andher companion would never return from the wood; but they came atlength, Mr. Ramy's brow pearled with perspiration, Evelina pink andconscious, a drooping bunch of ferns in her hand; and it was clearthat, to her at least, the moments had been winged.

　　"D'you suppose they'll revive?" she asked, holding up theferns; but Ann Eliza, rising at her approach, said stiffly: "We'dbetter be getting home, Evelina.""Mercy me! Ain't you going to take your coffee first?" Mrs.

　　Hochmuller protested; and Ann Eliza found to her dismay thatanother long gastronomic ceremony must intervene before politenesspermitted them to leave. At length, however, they found themselvesagain on the ferry-boat. Water and sky were grey, with a dividinggleam of sunset that sent sleek opal waves in the boat's wake. Thewind had a cool tarry breath, as though it had travelled over milesof shipping, and the hiss of the water about the paddles was asdelicious as though it had been splashed into their tired faces.

　　Ann Eliza sat apart, looking away from the others. She hadmade up her mind that Mr. Ramy had proposed to Evelina in the wood,and she was silently preparing herself to receive her sister'sconfidence that evening.

　　But Evelina was apparently in no mood for confidences. Whenthey reached home she put her faded ferns in water, and aftersupper, when she had laid aside her silk dress and the forget-me-not bonnet, she remained silently seated in her rocking-chair nearthe open window. It was long since Ann Eliza had seen her in souncommunicative a mood.

　　The following Saturday Ann Eliza was sitting alone in the shopwhen the door opened and Mr. Ramy entered. He had never beforecalled at that hour, and she wondered a little anxiously what hadbrought him.

　　"Has anything happened?" she asked, pushing aside thebasketful of buttons she had been sorting.

　　"Not's I know of," said Mr. Ramy tranquilly. "But I alwaysclose up the store at two o'clock Saturdays at this season, so Ithought I might as well call round and see you.""I'm real glad, I'm sure," said Ann Eliza; "but Evelina'sout.""I know dat," Mr. Ramy answered. "I met her round de corner.

　　She told me she got to go to dat new dyer's up in Forty-eighthStreet. She won't be back for a couple of hours, har'ly, willshe?"Ann Eliza looked at him with rising bewilderment. "No, Iguess not," she answered; her instinctive hospitality prompting herto add: "Won't you set down jest the same?"Mr. Ramy sat down on the stool beside the counter, and AnnEliza returned to her place behind it.

　　"I can't leave the store," she explained.

　　"Well, I guess we're very well here." Ann Eliza had becomesuddenly aware that Mr. Ramy was looking at her withunusual intentness. Involuntarily her hand strayed to the thinstreaks of hair on her temples, and thence descended to straightenthe brooch beneath her collar.

　　"You're looking very well to-day, Miss Bunner," said Mr. Ramy,following her gesture with a smile.

　　"Oh," said Ann Eliza nervously. "I'm always well in health,"she added.

　　"I guess you're healthier than your sister, even if you areless sizeable.""Oh, I don't know. Evelina's a mite nervous sometimes, butshe ain't a bit sickly.""She eats heartier than you do; but that don't mean nothing,"said Mr. Ramy.

　　Ann Eliza was silent. She could not follow the trend of histhought, and she did not care to commit herself farther aboutEvelina before she had ascertained if Mr. Ramy considerednervousness interesting or the reverse.

　　But Mr. Ramy spared her all farther indecision.

　　"Well, Miss Bunner," he said, drawing his stool closer to thecounter, "I guess I might as well tell you fust as last what I comehere for to-day. I want to get married."Ann Eliza, in many a prayerful midnight hour, had sought tostrengthen herself for the hearing of this avowal, but now that ithad come she felt pitifully frightened and unprepared. Mr. Ramywas leaning with both elbows on the counter, and she noticed thathis nails were clean and that he had brushed his hat; yet eventhese signs had not prepared her!

　　At last she heard herself say, with a dry throat in which herheart was hammering: "Mercy me, Mr. Ramy!""I want to get married," he repeated. "I'm too lonesome. Itain't good for a man to live all alone, and eat noding but coldmeat every day.""No," said Ann Eliza softly.

　　"And the dust fairly beats me.""Oh, the dust--I know!"Mr. Ramy stretched one of his blunt-fingered hands toward her.

　　"I wisht you'd take me."Still Ann Eliza did not understand. She rose hesitatinglyfrom her seat, pushing aside the basket of buttons which laybetween them; then she perceived that Mr. Ramy was trying to takeher hand, and as their fingers met a flood of joy swept over her.

　　Never afterward, though every other word of their interview wasstamped on her memory beyond all possible forgetting, could sherecall what he said while their hands touched; she only knew thatshe seemed to be floating on a summer sea, and that all its waveswere in her ears.

　　"Me--me?" she gasped.

　　"I guess so," said her suitor placidly. "You suit me rightdown 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 adesultory 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 likedde quiet style--no fuss and airs, and not afraid of work." Hespoke as though dispassionately cataloguing her charms.

　　Ann Eliza felt that she must make an end. "But, Mr. Ramy, youdon'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 twitchinglips. "The fact is, I ain't as active as I look. Maybe I couldn'tstand the care. I ain't as spry as Evelina--nor as young," sheadded, with a last great effort.

　　"But you do most of de work here, anyways," said her suitordoubtfully.

　　"Oh, well, that's because Evelina's busy outside; and wherethere's only two women the work don't amount to much. Besides, I'mthe oldest; I have to look after things," she hastened on, halfpained 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 herown should be less staunch.

　　"No, no," she repeated, feeling the tears on her lashes. "Icouldn't, Mr. Ramy, I couldn't marry. I'm so surprised.

　　I always thought it was Evelina--always. And so did everybodyelse. 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 aman who feels he may safely wait.

　　"Oh, no, no. It ain't any sorter use, Mr. Ramy. I don'tnever mean to marry. I get tired so easily--I'd be afraid of thework. And I have such awful headaches." She paused, racking herbrain for more convincing infirmities.

　　"Headaches, do you?" said Mr. Ramy, turning back.

　　"My, yes, awful ones, that I have to give right up to.

　　Evelina has to do everything when I have one of them headaches.

　　She has to bring me my tea in the mornings.""Well, I'm sorry to hear it," said Mr. Ramy.

　　"Thank you kindly all the same," Ann Eliza murmured. "Andplease don't--don't--" She stopped suddenly, looking at himthrough her tears.

　　"Oh, that's all right," he answered. "Don't you fret, MissGunner. Folks have got to suit themselves." She thought his tonehad grown more resigned since she had spoken of her headaches.

　　For some moments he stood looking at her with a hesitatingeye, as though uncertain how to end their conversation; and atlength she found courage to say (in the words of a novel she hadonce read): "I don't want this should make any difference betweenus.""Oh, my, no," said Mr. Ramy, absently picking up his hat.

　　"You'll come in just the same?" she continued, nerving herselfto the effort. "We'd miss you awfully if you didn't. Evelina,she--" She paused, torn between her desire to turn his thoughts toEvelina, and the dread of prematurely disclosing her sister'ssecret.

　　"Don't Miss Evelina have no headaches?" Mr. Ramy suddenlyasked.

　　"My, no, never--well, not to speak of, anyway. She ain't hadone for ages, and when Evelina IS sick she won't never givein to it," Ann Eliza declared, making some hurried adjustments withher conscience.

　　"I wouldn't have thought that," said Mr. Ramy.

　　"I guess you don't know us as well as you thought you did.""Well, no, that's so; maybe I don't. I'll wish you good day,Miss Bunner"; and Mr. Ramy moved toward the door.

　　"Good day, Mr. Ramy," Ann Eliza answered.

　　She felt unutterably thankful to be alone. She knew thecrucial moment of her life had passed, and she was glad that shehad not fallen below her own ideals. It had been a wonderfulexperience; and in spite of the tears on her cheeks she was notsorry to have known it. Two facts, however, took the edge from itsperfection: that it had happened in the shop, and that she had nothad on her black silk.

　　She passed the next hour in a state of dreamy ecstasy.

　　Something had entered into her life of which no subsequentempoverishment could rob it: she glowed with the same rich sense ofpossessorship that once, as a little girl, she had felt when hermother had given her a gold locket and she had sat up in bed in thedark to draw it from its hiding-place beneath her night-gown.

　　At length a dread of Evelina's return began to mingle withthese musings. How could she meet her younger sister's eye withoutbetraying what had happened? She felt as though a visible glorylay on her, and she was glad that dusk had fallen when Evelinaentered. But her fears were superfluous. Evelina, always self-absorbed, had of late lost all interest in the simple happenings ofthe shop, and Ann Eliza, with mingled mortification and relief,perceived that she was in no danger of being cross-questioned as tothe events of the afternoon. She was glad of this; yet there wasa touch of humiliation in finding that the portentous secret in herbosom did not visibly shine forth. It struck her as dull, and evenslightly absurd, of Evelina not to know at last that they wereequals.