The brown hair was smoothed over the white temples, and the sweet girl eyes looked kindly into the street from which the figure of the young man had just passed.

If by chance the eyes of that young man had been turned upward, would he not have thought--since one Sunday morning, when he passed her on the way to church, he was sure that she looked like an angel going home--would he not have thought that she looked like an angel bending down toward him out of heaven?
It was not strange that Uncle Lawrence had sent him.

For somehow Uncle Lawrence had discovered that if there was any thing to go to May Newt, there was nothing in the world that Gabriel Bennet was so anxious to do as to carry it.
But while the young man was always so glad to go to Boniface Newt's gloomy house--for some reason which he did not explain, and which even his sister Ellen did not know--or, at least, which she pretended not to know, although one evening that wily young girl talked with brother Gabriel about May Newt, as if she had some particular purpose in the conversation, until she seemed to have convinced herself of some hitherto doubtful point--yet with all the willingness to go to the house, Gabriel Bennet never went to the office of Boniface Newt, Son, & Co.
If he had done so it would not have been pleasant to him, for it was perpetual field-day in the office.

A few days after Uncle Lawrence's visit to his nephew, the senior partner sat bending his hard, anxious face over account-books and letters.

The junior partner lounged in his chair as if the office had been a club-room.