r, for I think
I understood better than the others what her feelings really were. But
even I was not prepared for what did happen. I would not have believed
that Aunt Olivia could do it. I thought that her desire for marriage in
the abstract would outweigh the disadvantages of the concrete. But one
can never reckon with real, bred-in-the-bone old-maidism.

One morning Mr. Malcolm MacPherson told us all that he was coming up
that evening to make Aunt Olivia set the day. Peggy and I laughingly
approved, telling him that it was high time for him to assert his
authority, and he went off in great good humour across the river field,
whistling a Highland strathspey. But Aunt Olivia looked like a martyr.
She had a fierce attack of housecleaning that day, and put everything in
flawless order, even to the corners.

"As if there was going to be a funeral in the house," sniffed Peggy.

Peggy and I were up in the south-west room at dusk that evening, piecing
a quilt, when we heard Mr. Malcolm MacPherson shouting out in the hall
below to know if anyone was home. I ran out to the landing, but as I
did so Aunt Olivia came out of her room, brushed past me, and flitted
downstairs.

"Mr. MacPherson," I heard her say with double-distilled primness, "will
you please come into the parlour? I have something to say to you."

They went in, and I returned to the south-west room.

"Peg, there's trouble brewing," I said. "I'm sure of it by Aunt Olivia's
face, it was GRAY. And she has gone down ALONE--and shut the door."

"I am going to hear what she says to him," said Peggy resolutely. "It is
her own fault--she has spoiled us by always insisting that we should be
present at their interviews. That poor man has had to do his courting
under our very eyes. Come on, Mary."

The south-west room was directly over the parlour and there was an open
stovepipe-hole leading up therefrom. Peggy removed the hat box that
was on it, and we both deliberately and shamelessly crouched down and
listened with all our might.

It was easy enough to hear what Mr. Malcolm MacPherson was saying.

"I've come up to get the date settled, Nillie, as I told you. Come now,
little woman, name the day."

SMACK!

"Don't, Mr. MacPherson," said Aunt Olivia. She spoke as a woman who
has keyed herself up to the doing of some very distasteful task and is
anxious to have it over and done with as soon as possible. "There is
something I must say to you. I cannot marry you, Mr