My Friend Paton

Mathew Morriss, my father, was a cotton merchant in Liverpool twenty-
five years ago--a steady, laborious, clear-headed man, very
affectionate and genial in his private intercourse. He was wealthy, and
we lived in a sumptuous house in the upper part of the city. This was
when I was about ten years old. My father was twice married; I was the
child of the first wife, who died when I was very young; my stepmother
came five years later. She was the elder of two sisters, both beautiful
women. The sister often came to visit us. I remember I liked her better
than I liked my stepmother; in fact, I regarded her with that sort of
romantic attachment that often is developed in lads of my age. She had
golden brown hair and a remarkably sweet voice, and she sang and played
in a manner that transported me with delight; for I was already devoted
to music. She was of a gentle yet impulsive temperament, easily moved
to smiles and tears; she seemed to me the perfection of womankind, and
I made no secret of my determination to marry her when I grew up. She
used to caress me, and look at me in a dreamy way, and tell me I was
the nicest and handsomest boy in the world. "And as soon as you are a
year older than I am, John," she would say, "you shall marry me, if you
like."

Another frequent visitor at our house at this time was not nearly so
much a favorite of mine. This was a German, Adolf Körner by name, who
had been a clerk in my father's concern for a number of years, and had
just been admitted junior partner. My father placed every confidence in
him, and often declared that he had the best idea of business he had
ever met with. This may very likely have been the fact; but to me he
appeared simply a tall, grave, taciturn man, of cold manners, speaking
with a slight German accent, which I disliked. I suppose he was about
thirty-seven years of age, but I always thought of him as older than my
father, who was fifty. Another and more valid reason for my disliking
Körner was that he was in the habit of paying a great deal of attention
to my ladylove, Miss Juliet Tretherne. I used to upbraid Juliet about
encouraging his advances, and I expressed my opinion of him in the
plainest language, at which she would smile in a preoccupied wav, and
would sometimes draw me to her and kiss me on the forehead. Once she
said, "Mr. Körner is a very noble gentleman; you must not dislike him."
This had the effect of making me hate him all the more.

One day I noticed an unusual commotion in the house, and Juliet came
down-stairs attired in a lovely white dress, with a long veil, and
fragrant flowers in her hair. She got into a carriage with my father
and stepmother, and drove away. I did not understand