“My dear Carlita, don’t you see you are running away with yourself? You are preaching for my side, instead of your own. Chris and Peter are results, so is Leonard Murray. You can’t put nature to the door, Carlita. Nature is more than nurture; all that our home and education and trading surroundings could do for boys, was done for Peter and Chris; but nature was ahead of us--she had put into them the wandering salt drops of adventure that stirred ‘The Beggars,’ and Tromp, and Van Heemskirk. I tell you truly, Carlita, that the breed is more than the pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird’s nest; it may be hatched among blackbirds or robins or thrushes, but it is always a cuckoo. And so we came back to my first position, that a man cannot deliver himself from his ancestors.” “I do not care, Gerardus, about ancestors; I look at Leonard just as he is to-day. And I wish you would tell me plainly what to do. Or will you, yourself, let Leonard know your mind on this subject? Perhaps that would be best.” “How can I speak to him? Can I refuse Sapphira until he asks for her? Can I go to him and say, ‘Sir, I see that you admire my daughter, and I do not intend to let you marry her.’ That would be offering Sapphira and myself for insult, and I could not complain if I got what I asked for.” “Is there anything I can do, seeing that you object so strongly to Leonard?” “Yes, you can tell Sapphira how much I feel about such an alliance; you can show her the path of obedience and duty; and I expect you to do this much. I did not like mother’s attitude about him at all, and I shall speak to her myself. Sapphira must be made to feel that Leonard Murray is impossible.” “Well, Gerardus, I will speak to the poor little one. Oh, I am so sorry for her--she will feel it every way so much; but some fathers don’t care, even if they turn a wedding into a funeral.” “Such words are not right, nor even true. I care for Sapphira’s welfare above everything.” “Speak to mother; I wish you would. She will not refuse Leonard if he asks her for Annette. And Annette is already in love with him, I am not deceived in that. She was white with envy and jealousy to-night.” “Is Annette in it?” “Yes, and very much so, I think.” “Then I give up the case. No man can rule right against three or four women. I am going to sleep now, and I hope it may be a long time before I hear Leonard Murray’s name again.” His hope had but a short existence. When he entered the breakfast room the following morning, the first thing he saw was Sapphira bending over a basket of green rushes, running over with white rosebuds. She turned to him a face full of delight. “See, father,” she cried. “Are they not lovely? Are they not sweet? If you kiss me, you will get their dew upon my lips.” He bent his head down to the fragrant flowers, and then asked: “Where did you get them so early in the morning?” “Leonard Murray sent them. Let me pin this bud on the lapel of your coat.”