several instances where I have set her right by my estimation of men,
and invariably she has accepted my views."

"And mine until now," said the father, and then he recounted his
experience of the night before. "I had hoped she would not fall in
love, but be a prop and comfort to me now that I am alone. I am
dismayed at the prospect before me."

Then the old man mused: "In the chrysalis state of girlhood, a parent
arranges all the details of his daughter's future; when and whom she
shall marry. 'I shall not allow her to fall in love until she is
twenty-three,' says the fond parent. 'I shall not allow her to marry
until she is twenty-six,' says the fond parent. 'The man she marries
will be the one I approve of, and then she will live happy ever
after,' concludes the fond parent."

Deluded parent! false prophet! The anarchist, Love, steps in and
disdains all laws, rules and regulations. When finally the father
confronts the defying daughter, she calmly says, "Well, what are you
going to do about it?" And then tears, forgiveness, complete
capitulation, and, sometimes, she and her husband live happily ever
afterwards.

"We must find some means to end this attachment. A union between a
musician and my daughter would be most mortifying to me. Some plan
must be devised to separate them, but she must not know of it, for she
is impatient of restraint and will not brook opposition."

"Are you confident she really loves this violinist?"

"She confessed as much to me," said the perturbed banker.

Old Sanders tapped with both hands on his shining cranium and asked,
"Are you confident he loves her?"

"No. Even if he does not, he no doubt makes the pretense, and she
believes him. A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore an
opportunity to angle for the same commodity," and the banker, with a
look of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair.

"Does she know that you do not approve of this man?"

"I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease."

"And her answer?"

"She said she would obey me if I could name one reasonable objection
to the man, and then, with an air of absolute confidence in the
impossibility of such a contingency, added, 'But you can not.'"

"Yes, but you must," said Sanders. "Mildred is strangely constituted.
If she loves this man, her love can be more deadly to the choice of
her heart than her hate to one she abhors. The impatience of restraint
you speak of and her ver