Part 19 (2/2)

Surely, I know all about him.”

Judge Henderson swiftly turned and looked at her steadily, cold consternation on his face. ”Anne!” he exclaimed. ”That can't be! It's absurd.”

”Oh, I expected that,” said she easily. ”That's because he hasn't any money. I knew that. As for his family--he told me long ago that he was an orphan, that his father died when he was very young, and left only enough for his education, and that he would have to make his own way.

Very well, some men have had to do that--you have had to yourself, Nunkie, isn't it true? And Don was born here in this very town----”

He put out his hand over hers as it lay upon the table-top. ”Anne!” said he. ”My child! You're but a child--an impulsive, foolish child. What have you done? You have not pledged your word--to _him_?”

”Oh, yes, I have. I'm promised--my promise is given. More----”

”It's folly and worse than folly. It can't be--I won't have it--you hear me?” He broke out savagely now.

”I heard you--yes, but I'll jolly well not pay too much attention to you, even when you roar at me that way. As I understand it, I'm of age.

I've been studying for four years to get ready to be able to know my own mind--and I do! My own heart also. And I know what's due me.”

Her voice was low and very sweet, but the man who heard her winced at its cutting calm.

”You would marry a man like that, of no family, of no place, of no name?”

”Yes, I've just said that. I know all about it. We'll have to start at the bottom; and I ask you, didn't you start that way?”

”That's an entirely different proposition, my dear girl,” said her guardian. ”Times were different then. You are an heiress--you are a woman of family and place--and you don't have to go back to the old days--you don't need to ruin your own life through such terrible beginnings.

”But now, do you know who this young man's people are?” He asked this last after a considerable pause, during which his ward sat silent, looking at him steadily.

”Oh, yes. He told me he is an orphan--his father's dead long ago. And his mother----”

”You know his mother?”

”Yes, a milliner--I believe. But a good woman.”

”Ah!”

She still looked at him, smiling. ”I am 'advanced,' you see, Nunkie! In college we studied things. I don't care for the social rank--I want to marry a _man_. I love Don. I love--well, that kind of man. I'm so happy!”

She squeezed him tight in a sudden warm embrace. ”I love all the world, I believe, Nunkie--even you, and you are an old bear, as everybody knows! And I thank you for all those papers in the long envelopes--with the lines and the crosses on them, and the pencil mark 'Sign here'--powers of attorney and receipts, and bonds and shares and mortgages and certificates--all that sort of thing. Am I very rich, Nunkie?”

”Not very, as heiresses go these days,” said he. ”You're worth maybe four or five hundred thousand dollars, not very much. But that's not the question. That's not really everything there is at stake in this--although I'm well enough satisfied that's all this young man cares for.”

”Thank you!” said she proudly. ”I had not known that.”

”A good many things you have not known, my dear. Now listen here. Do you know what this marriage would mean to me? I want to be United States Senator from this state--and everything bids fair to see my ambition gratified. But politics is a ticklish game.”

”Well, what on earth has that to do with me and Don?”

”It has everything to do! I'm _not_ 'advanced,' I'm old fas.h.i.+oned enough to know that social rank does count in my business at least. In politics every little thing counts; so I tell you, for every reason in the world you must dismiss this young man from your thoughts. You are quixotic, I know--you are stubborn, like your mother--a good woman, but stubborn.”

He was arguing with her, but Anne could not read his face, although she sought to do so--there seemed some veil hiding his real thoughts. And his face was troubled. She thought he had aged very much.

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