An hour later and the party were back in Duplex Street, having travelled home in silence, with Patty weeping her sin the whole way, while she now sat sobbing by the fireside almost heedless of her mother's consoling words. Jared had looked stern and troubled, but not cross; in fact, he had been talking the matter over to himself on the way back, and himself had had the best of the argument by declaring that it was only a custom of the season; that Harry Clayton was a fine handsome young fellow, and Patty as sweet a little girl as ever breathed; and that, though the matter had turned into an upset, the young folks were not so very much to blame. Jared was beaten by himself, that is to say, by his own good nature, and what was more, he seemed so little put out in consequence, that he rode home the rest of the way with his arm round his wife's waist--but then, certainly it was dark. "There, there!" exclaimed Jared at last; "go to bed, Patty, and let's have no more tears." He spoke kindly; but Patty could not be consoled, for she told herself that she had been very, very wicked, and if dear father only knew that she had almost held out her lips to be kissed, he would never, never, forgive her. So she sobbed on. "Why, what is the matter?" exclaimed Jared at last, for Patty had thrown herself on her knees at her mother's feet, and was crying almost hysterically in her lap. "What are you crying for?" "Oh! oh! oh!" sobbed poor Patty, whose conscience would not let her rest until she had made a full confession of her sin, "I did-id-id-n't try to stop him." "Humph!" grunted Jared, and the eyes of husband and wife met over their weeping girl, whose sobs after confession grew less laboured and hysterical. The next day Harry Clayton called at Duplex Street, and the next day, and again after two days, and then once more after a week, but only to see Mrs Jared, who never admitted the visitor beyond the door-sill. She was civil and pleasant; but he must call when Mr Jared Pellet was at home, which he did at last and was ushered into the front parlour. Jared was in his shirt sleeves, and had an apron on, for he was busy covering pianoforte hammers, and there was a very different scent in the place to that in Mrs Richard's drawing-room, for Jared's glue-pot was in full steam. Had Mr Harry Clayton received permission from his parents to call? This from Jared very courteously, but quite _en prince_, though his fingers were gluey. No, from the young man, very humbly, he had neither received nor asked permission; but if Mr Jared would not let him see Miss Pellet before he went, he should leave town bitter, sorrowful, and disappointed; for there had been a great quarrel at home, and though he was of age, Mr Richard Pellet wished to treat him like a child. Only a shake of the head from Jared at this. Would Mr Jared be so cruel as to refuse to let him bid Miss Pellet good-bye?