“The man who was not would be unreasonable and—­”

“Man-like,” put in Julia.  “Let me sing you my new song.”

A piano was a novelty in Northern Ohio.  Julia played with a real skill and expression, and her father, though no musician, loved to listen, and more to hear her sing, with her clear, strong, sweet voice, and so she played and sang her song.

When she had finished, “By the way,” remarked her father, “I understand that our travelled young townsman, who has just returned from foreign parts, was at the post-office this afternoon, and perhaps you met him.”

“Whom do you mean?” asked Julia.

“Your mother’s pet, Bart Ridgeley.”

“Now, papa, that is hardly kind, after what you said of him the other day.  He is not mother’s pet at all.  She is only kind to him, as to everybody.  Indeed, he don’t seem to me like anybody’s pet, to be patted and kept in-doors when it rains, and eat jellies, and be nice.  I saw him at the store a moment; he was very civil, and merely asked after mamma, and went out.”

“Did you ask him to call and see mamma?” asked her father a little gravely.

“Not at all.  The truth is, papa, after what you said I could not ask him, and was hardly civil to him.”

“Was it unpleasant to be hardly civil to him?”

“No; though I like to be civil to everybody.  You know I have seen little of him since I came home, and when I have, he was sometimes silent and distant, and not like what he was before I went away.”

“You find him improved in appearance and manners?” persisted the Judge.

“Well, he was always good-looking, and had the way of a gentleman.  Miss Walters seemed quite taken with him, and was surprised that he had grown up here in the woods.”

Her father was silent a moment, and the subject was changed.  Mrs. Markham was attentive to what was said of poor Bart, but made no comment at the time.

* * * * *

In their room, that night, in her sweet, serious way, she said to her husband, “Edward, I do not want to say a word in favor of Barton Ridgeley.  I do not ask you to change your opinion of him or your course towards him; but I wish to ask if it is necessary to discuss him, especially with Julia?”

“Why?”

“Well, can it be productive of good?  If you are mistaken in your estimate of him, you do him injustice, and in any event you will call her attention to him, and she may observe and study him; and almost any young woman who should do that might become interested in him.”

“Do you think so?  Men don’t like him.”

“Is that a reason why a woman would not?”

“Have you discovered any reason to think that Julia cares in the least for him?”

“Julia is young, and, like the women of our family, develops in these respects slowly; but, like the rest of us, she will have her own fancies some time, and you know”—­with a still softer voice—­“that one of them left a beautiful home, and a circle of love and luxury, to follow her heart into the woods.”