For some days after the affair of the preserves, Mr. Wilmot was somewhat cool in his manner toward Julia, who had discernment enough to attribute the change to the right cause.  Earnestly did she desire to win back his esteem, and she accordingly cast about for some method by which she could undo what she had done.  She could think of no way except to acknowledge her error to Mr. Wilmot and promise to do better in the future.  So one evening when her father, mother and Fanny were absent, and she was alone with him, she adroitly led the conversation to the circumstance of her spoiled merino.  She acknowledged that it was very unamiable and unladylike to manifest such passionate feelings, said she knew she had a quick temper, but she tried hard to govern it; and if Mr. Wilmot would, as her teacher and friend, aid her by his advice and influence, she was sure she would in time succeed.  So nicely did she manage each part of her confession that Mr. Wilmot was thoroughly deceived.  He believed her perfectly sincere, and greatly admired what he thought to be her frank, confiding disposition.

From that time she was dearer to him than ever and Julia, again sure of his esteem, placed a double guard upon her temper, and in his presence was the very “pink” of amiability!  Affairs were gliding smoothly on, when the family received a visit from a gentleman, whom Julia would rather not have seen.  This was Mr. Miller, whom we have mentioned as having taught in that neighborhood the winter before.  Mr. Wilmot found him in the sitting room one night, on his return from school.  When the young men were introduced they regarded each other a moment in silence, then their hands were cordially extended, and the words, “Richard Wilmot,” “Joseph Miller,” were simultaneously uttered.

It seems that, years before, they had been roommates and warmly attached friends in the Academy of Canandaigua, New York, and now, after the lapse of ten years, they met for the first time far off in Kentucky.  A long conversation followed, relative to what had occurred to each since the bright June morning when they parted with so much regret in the old academic halls of Canandaigua.

At length Mr. Miller said:  “Richard, what has become of that sister of yours, of whose marvelous beauty you used to tell us boys such big stories?”

“My sister Kate,” said Mr. Wilmot, “is at present at school in New Haven.”

“And is she still as beautiful as you used to try to make us think she was?” asked Mr. Miller.

“I will show you her likeness,” returned Wilmot, “and you can judge for yourself.”

So saying, he drew from his pocket a richly cased daguerreotype, and handed it to Mr. Miller.  It was a face of uncommon beauty which met Mr. Miller’s eye, and he gazed enraptured on the surpassing loveliness of the picture.  At last he passed it to Fanny, who was eagerly waiting for it, and then turning to Wilmot, he said, “Yes, Richard, she has the handsomest face I ever saw.”