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.