"Ah!--ahem!" said Mr. Burwell, who worshipped the ground his daughter
trod upon. "I suppose it would be a pity to interfere with her, eh, my
dear?"

"Well, I can't help wishing myself, Mr. Burwell, that she would select
children of her own class in life, but, as you say, she has taken a
fancy to that Burr boy, and he seems to be a decent, respectful kind of
child. Of course I know it is your soft heart that makes you look at it
in this way--but I love you all the better for it. I remember the day
you proposed to me for the sixth time, I had just seen you bandage up
the head of a little darkey that had cut himself--and I accepted you on
the spot."

"Yes, yes, my love," Mr. Burwell had responded, kissing his wife as they
left the room. "I am convinced that I am right, and I am glad that you
agree with me. We won't speak of it to Juliet."

In the hall below they met Nicholas Burr, and greeted him with
hospitable kindness.

"So this is your new scholar, eh, Juliet? You must do justice to your
teacher, my boy."

Juliet laughed and went out into the yard to meet several young men who
were coming up the walk, and Nicholas noticed with a jealous pang that
she sat with them beneath the myrtle and talked in the same soft voice
with the same radiant smile. She was not speaking of heaven now. She was
laughing merrily at pointless jokes and promising to embroider a
handkerchief for one and to make a box of caramels for another.