"When you are older we shall see, my boy--we shall see."

Nicholas left with a chill of disappointment, but as he passed along the
street his name was called by Juliet Burwell, and she fluttered across
to him in all her mystifying flounces and her gracious smile.

"I was at the rector's," she said, "and he told me that you wanted to be
confirmed--and I want you to come into my Sunday-school class."

Nicholas met the kind eyes and blushed purple. Her beauty took away his
breath and made his pulses leap. The slow, musical drawl of her speech
soothed him like the running of clear water. He felt the image of Thomas
Jefferson totter upon its pedestal, but it was steadied with a
tremendous lurch. Jefferson was a man, after all, and this was only a
woman.

"Will you come?" asked the soft voice, and he stammered an amazed and
awkward assent.




VIII


On the Saturday after the day upon which Nicholas had pledged himself to
attend Sunday-school Juliet Burwell asked him to come into Kingsborough
and talk over the lesson for the following morning. At five o'clock in
the afternoon he dressed himself with trembling hands and a perturbed