"You need have no doubt of either of those things, my little girl," said her father in her ear. "Both are ready. It is only your happiness I want. I distrust the power of any poor man to give it to you. That is all. Since I have seen this house the question looks less doubtful to me--I admit that gladly. But I still am anxious for the future. Even in this attractive place there must be monotony, drudgery, lack of many things you have always had and felt you must have. You have never learned to do without them. I understand that Robeson will not accept them at my hand, nor at yours. I don't know that I think the less of him for that--but--you will have to learn self-denial. I want you to be very sure that you can do it, and that it will be worth while." There was a little silence, then Juliet gently drew herself away and rose to her feet. She stood looking down at the imposing figure of the elderly man in the chair, and there was something in her face he had never seen there before. "There's just one thing about it, sir," she said. "I can't possibly spare Anthony Robeson out of my life. I tried to do it, and I know. I would rather live it out in this little home--with him--than share the most promising future with any other man. But there's this you must remember: A man who was brought up to do nothing but ride fine horses, and shoot, and dance, must have something in him to go to work and advance, and earn enough to buy even such a home as this, in five years. He has a future of his own." Mr. Marcy looked thoughtful. "Yes, that may be true," he said. "I rather think it is." "And, father----" she bent to lay a roseleaf cheek against his own--"you began with mother in a poorer home than this, and were so happy! Don't I know that?" "Yes, yes, dear," he sighed. "That's true, too. But we were both poor--had always been so. It was an advance for us--not a coming down." "It's no coming down for me." There was spirit and fire in the girl's eyes now. "Just to wear less costly clothes--to walk instead of drive--to live on simpler food--what are those things? Look at these," she pointed to the rows of books in the bookcases which lined two walls of the room. "I'm marrying a man of refinement, of family, of the sort of blood that tells. He's an educated man--he loves the things those books stand for. He's good and strong and fine--and if I'm not safe with him I'll never be safe with anybody. But besides all that--I--I love him with all there is of me. Oh--_are_ you satisfied now?" Blushing furiously she turned away. Her father got to his feet, stood looking after her a moment with something very tender coming into his eyes, then took a step toward her and gathered her into his arms. VIII.--ON ACCOUNT OF THE TEA-KETTLE "This is the nineteenth day of August," observed Anthony Robeson. "We finished furnishing the house for my future bride on the third day of the month. Over two weeks have gone by since then. The place must need dusting."