came into the hall. She was not one I had
noticed before. I asked if I could see Mrs. Chester, and she said she
would go and look for her. There were chairs in the hall, and I might
have waited for her there, but I did not. I entered the parlor, and
was pleased to find it unoccupied. I went to the upper end of the
room, as far as possible from the door.

In a few minutes I heard a step in the hall. I knew it, and it was
strange how soon I had learned to know it. She stopped in front of the
office, then she went on towards the porch, and turning she came into
the parlor, first looking towards the front of the room and then
towards the place where I stood.

The light from a window near me fell directly upon her as she
approached me, and I could see that there was a slight flush on her
face, but before she reached me it had disappeared. She did not greet
me. She did not offer me her hand. In fact, from what afterwards
happened, I believe that she did not consider me at that moment a fit
subject for ordinary greeting. She stood up in front of me. She gazed
steadfastly into my face. Her features wore something of their
ordinary pleasant expression, but to this there was added a certain
determination which I had never seen there before. She gave her head a
little quick shake.

"No, sir!" she said.

This reception amazed me. I had been greatly agitated as I heard her
approach, turning over in my mind what I should first say to her, but
now I forgot everything I had prepared. "No what?" I exclaimed.

[Illustration: "'NO, SIR,' SHE SAID"]

"'No' means that I will not marry you."

I stood speechless. "Of course you are thinking," she continued, "that
you have never asked me to marry you. But that isn't at all necessary.
As soon as I saw you standing there, back two weeks before your
vacation is over, and when I got a good look at your face, I knew
exactly what you had come for. I was afraid when you left here that
you would come back for that, so I was not altogether unprepared. I
spoke promptly so as to spare you and to make it easier for me."

"Easier!" I repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Easier, because the sooner you know that I will not marry you the
better it will be for you and for me."

Now I could restrain myself no longer. "Why can't I marry you?" I
asked, speaking very rapidly, and, I am afraid, with imprudent energy.
"Is it any sort of condition or circumstance which prevents? Do you
think that I am forcing