'Hear me, Miss Burr'. [And he quoted from one of her letters:] 'Aristotle says that a man should not marry before he is six and thirty; pray, Mr. Alston, what arguments have you to oppose to such authority?'

It has always been my practice, whether from a natural independence of mind, from pride, or what other cause I will not pretend to say, never to adopt the opinion of anyone, however respectable his authority, unless thoroughly convinced by his arguments; the 'ipse dixit,' as logicians term it, even of Cicero, who stands higher in my estimation than any other author, would not have the least weight with me; you must, therefore, till you offer better reasons than the Grecian sage himself has done, excuse my differing with him.

He went on like this for several pages, and Theo sighed as she waded through paragraph after paragraph of his sprawling handwriting.

He talked a great deal about himself; he quoted a poem by Benjamin Franklin; in one unrestrained moment he addressed her as 'My Theodosia,' and told her that he anticipated marriage with rapture; that it would form 'so perfect a heaven from our uniting in every study, improving our minds together and informing each other by our mutual assistance and observations.'

But now, having polished off the subject of early marriage, Joseph abandoned the personal note and embarked on an essay, nearly three thousand words long, refuting her objections to South Carolina.

'Alas! Beautiful and romantic hills of South Carolina—fair and fertile plains interspersed with groves of the orange, the lemon, and the myrtle, which fling such healthful fragrance to the air, where are ye fled?' wrote Joseph, soaring into dizzy heights of rhetoric. And there was a great deal more of this, until Theodosia, a quarter of an hour later, reached the postscript.

The arrangement you speak of, proposing in your letter for an interview, has determined me. I shall, therefore, sail certainly in a few days. Winds be propitious!

Theo folded together the scattered pages and carried the letter to her father, as a matter of course. Aaron sat in the library composing a speech on taxation for the session at Albany, but he turned to her with the instant whole-hearted attention that was one of his greatest charms.

'From Joseph,' she said ruefully, half-laughing. 'There's a vast lot of it.'

'There is indeed'. Aaron surveyed the crumpled pile of paper. But he read it at once, while Theo pulled a book from the shelves and lost herself in the sprightly pages of a new romance.

Thank Heaven, thought Aaron, as he plodded on and on, that Alston does not speak as he writes, or my poor Theo would soon be buried under an avalanche of verbiage. I could have said all this in a tenth the space, and far more seductively. Still he hid his amusement, finished reading the letter, and replaced it on the table.