family has long been established.  He has ever regarded me as his son, treated me as such, and as such I feel bound to be guided by him in my choice of a profession.  Beulah, I have loved you well, but such another exhibition of scorn and bitterness will indeed alienate us.  Since you have set aside my views and counsel in the matter of teaching, I shall not again refer to it, I promise you.  I have no longer the wish to control your actions, even had I the power.  But, remember, since the hour you stood beside your father’s grave, leaning on me, I have been constantly your friend.  My expostulations were for what I considered your good.  Beulah, I am still, to you, the Eugene of other days.  It will be your own fault if the sanctity of our friendship is not maintained.”

“It shall not be my fault, Eugene.”  She hastily held out her hand.  He clasped it in his, and, as if dismissing the topics which had proved so stormy, drew her to a seat, and said composedly: 

“Come, tell me what you have been doing with yourself these long five years, which have changed you so.  I have heard already of your heroism in nursing the sick, during the late awful season of pestilence and death.”

For an hour they talked on indifferent themes, each feeling that the other was veiling the true impulses of the heart, and finally Eugene rose to go.

“How is Cornelia’s health now?” asked Beulah, as they stood up before the fire.

“About the same.  She never complains, but does not look like herself.  Apropos! she intrusted a note to me, for you, which I had quite forgotten.  Here it is.  Miss Dupres is with her for the winter; at least, a part of it.  Cornelia will come and see you in a day or two, she requested me to say; and I do hope, Beulah, that you will visit her often; she has taken a great fancy to you.”

“How long since?” answered Beulah, with an incredulous smile.

“Since she met you at a concert, I believe.  By the way, we are very musical at our house, and promise ourselves some delightful evenings this winter.  You must hear Antoinette Dupres sing; she is equal to the best prima-donna of Italy.  Do you practice much?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I must go.  When shall I see you again?”

“Whenever you feel disposed to come; and I hope that will be often.  Eugene, you were a poor correspondent; see that you prove a better visitor.”

“Yes, I will.  I have a thousand things to say, but scarcely know where to commence.  You are always at home in the evenings, I suppose?”

“Yes:  except occasionally when I am with the Asburys.”

“Do you see much of them?”

“Yes; a good deal.”

“I am glad to hear it; they move in the very first circle.  Now,
Beulah, don’t be offended if I ask what is the matter with Dr.
Hartwell?  How did you displease him?”

“Just as I displeased you; by deciding to teach.  Eugene, it pains me very much that he should treat me as he does, but it is utterly out of my power to rectify the evil.”