Dr. Deane did not notice this thrust: it was not his habit to get angry.
"Put _thyself_ in _my_ place, Betsy," he said. "He's a worthy young man,
in some respects, I grant thee, but would thee like _thy_ daughter to be
seen riding home beside him from Meeting? It's one thing speaking for
thyself, and another for thy daughter."

"Thy daughter!" she repeated. "Old or young can't make any difference,
as I see."

There was something else on her tongue, but she forcibly withheld the
words. She would not exhaust her ammunition until there was both a
chance and a necessity to do some execution. The next moment Martha
reentered the room.

After dinner, they formed a quiet group in the front sitting-room. Dr.
Deane, having no more visits to make that day, took a pipe of choice
tobacco,--the present of a Virginia Friend, whose acquaintance he had
made at Yearly Meeting,--and seated himself in the arm-chair beside the
stove. Martha, at the west window, enjoyed a volume of Hannah More, and
Miss Betsy, at the front window, labored over the Psalms. The sun shone
with dim, muffled orb, but the air without was mild, and there were
already brown tufts, which would soon be blossoms, on the lilac twigs.

Suddenly Miss Betsy lifted up her head and exclaimed, "Well, I never!"
As she did so, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" said Dr. Deane, and in came Mr. Alfred Barton, resplendent in
blue coat, buff waistcoat, cambric ruffles, and silver-gilt buckles.
But, alas! the bunch of seals--topaz, agate, and cornelian--no longer
buoyed the deep-anchored watch. The money due his father had been