She had called him so from childhood.  Hers was the one voice that seemed to soften him—­it never failed.  He turned to her now with a movement that was almost gentle.  “Virginia, I should like you to know my young Yankee,” said he.

“Thank you, Uncle Silas,” said the girl, with dignity, “but I scarcely think that he would care to know me.  He feels so strongly.”

“He feels no stronger than I do,” replied the Judge.

“You have gotten used to me in eighteen years, and besides,” she flashed, “you never spent all the money you had in the world for a principle.”

Mr. Whipple smiled as she went out of the door.

“I have spent pretty near all,” he said.  But more to himself than to the Colonel.

That evening, some young people came in to tea, two of the four big Catherwood boys, Anne Brinsmade and her brother Jack, Puss Russell and Bert, and Eugenie Renault.  But Virginia lost her temper.  In an evil moment Puss Russell started the subject of the young Yankee who had deprived her of Hester.  Puss was ably seconded by Jack Brinsmade, whose reputation as a tormentor extended far back into his boyhood.  In vain; did Anne, the peacemaker, try to quench him, while the big Catherwoods and Bert Russell laughed incessantly.  No wonder that Virginia was angry.  She would not speak to Puss as that young lady bade her good night.  And the Colonel, coming home from an evening with Mr, Brinsmade, found his daughter in an armchair, staring into the sitting-room fire.  There was no other light in the room Her chin was in her hand, and her lips were pursed.

“Heigho!” said the Colonel, “what’s the trouble now?”

“Nothing,” said Virginia.

“Come,” he insisted, “what have they been doing to my girl?”

“Pa!”

“Yes, honey.”

“I don’t want to go to balls all my life.  I want to go to boarding-school, and learn something.  Emily is going to Monticello after Christmas.  Pa, will you let me?”

Mr. Carvel winced.  He put an arm around her.  He, thought of his lonely widowerhood, of her whose place Virginia had taken.

“And what shall I do?” he said, trying to smile.

“It will only be for a little while.  And Monticello isn’t very far, Pa.”

“Well, well, there is plenty of time to think it over between now and January,” he said.  “And now I have a little favor to ask of you, honey.”

“Yes?” she said.

The Colonel took the other armchair, stretched his feet toward the blaze, and stroked his goatee.  He glanced covertly at his daughter’s profile.  Twice he cleared hip throat.

“Jinny?”

“Yes, Pa” (without turning her head).

“Jinny, I was going to speak of this young.  Brice.  He’s a stranger here, and he comes of a good family, and—­and I like him.”

“And you wish me to invite him to my party,” finished Virginia.

The Colonel started.  “I reckon you guessed it,” he said.