. He almost strutted into Julia's
presence. Julia had a real affection for her father, and nothing
mortified her more than to see him acting as a puppet, moved by her
mother, and yet vain enough to believe himself independent and supreme.
She would have yielded almost any other point to have saved herself the
mortification of seeing her father act the fool; but now she had
determined that she would die and let everybody else die rather than
walk with a man whose nature seemed to her corrupt, and whose touch was
pollution. I do not mean that she was able to make a distinct inventory
of her reasons for disliking him, or to analyze her feelings. She could
not have told just why she had so deep and utter a repugnance to walking
a quarter of a mile to the school-house in company with this man. She
followed that strong instinct of truth and purity which is the
surest guide.

"Julia, my daughter," said Samuel Anderson, "really you must yield to me
as head of the house, and treat this gentleman politely. I thought you
respected him, or loved him, and he told me that you had given consent
to marry him, and had told him to ask my consent."

In saying this, the "head of the house" was seesawing himself backward
and forward in his squeaky boots, speaking in a pompous manner, and with
an effort to swell an effeminate voice to a bass key, resulting in
something between a croak and a squeal. Julia sat down and cried in
mortification and disgust. Mr. Anderson understood this to be
acquiescence, and turned and went into the next room.

[Illustration: JULIA SAT DOWN IN MORTIFICATION.]

"Mr. Humphreys, my daughter will be glad to ask your pardon. She is over
her little pet; lovers always have pets. Even my wife and I have had our
disagreements in our time. Julia will be glad to see you in the
sitting-room."

Humphreys drew the draw-strings and set his face into its broadest and
most parallelogrammatic smile, bowed to Mr. Anderson, and stepped into
the hall. But when he reached the sitting-room door he wished he had
staid away. Julia had heard his tread, and was standing again with her
foot advanced. Her eyes were very black, and were drawn to a sharp
focus. She had some of her mother's fire, though happily none of her
mother's meanness. It is hard to say whether she spoke or hissed.

"Go away, you spider! I hate you! I told you I hated you, and you told
people I loved you and was engaged to you. Go away! You detestable
spider, you!