ain when he caught her looking at them on the
sly.

Presently Juliet called Sally and took him into the quaint old
dining-room and gave him cakes and jam on a table that shone like glass.
There he saw Mr. Burwell--a pink-cheeked, little gentleman who wore an
expansive air of innocence and a white pique waistcoat--and Mrs.
Burwell, a pretty, gray-haired woman, who ruled her husband with the
velvet-pawed despotism which was the heritage of the women of her race
and day. She had never bought a bonnet without openly consulting his
judgment; he had never taken a step in life without unconsciously
following hers.

"Really, my dear Sally," he had said when he heard of Nicholas's
reception by his daughter, "Juliet must a--a--be taught to recognise the
existence of class. Really, I cannot have her bringing all these people
into my house. You must put a stop to it at once, my dear."

Mrs. Burwell had smiled placidly as she patted her gray fringe.

"Of course you know best, Mr. Burwell," she had replied with that
touching humility which forbade her to address her husband by his
Christian name. "Of course you know best about such matters, and I'll
tell Juliet what you say. Poor child, she has such confidence in your
judgment that she will believe whatever you say to be right; but she
does love so to feel that she is exerting a good influence over the
boys, and, perhaps, helping them to work out their future salvation. She
thinks, too, that it is so well for them to have a chance of talking to
you. I heard her tell Dudley Webb that he must take you for an
example--"

"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