n't think you ought to come
here any more, either."

"And why?" asked the Senator, pausing to consider and choose his
words. "Isn't this rather peculiar? What has your daughter done?"

"What has she done!" exclaimed Gerhardt, his excitement growing
under the strain he was enduring, and speaking almost unaccented
English in consequence. "She is running around the streets at night
when she oughtn't to be. I don't want my daughter taken out after dark
by a man of your age. What do you want with her anyway? She is only a
child yet."

"Want!" said the Senator, straining to regain his ruffled dignity.
"I want to talk with her, of course. She is old enough to be
interesting to me. I want to marry her if she will have me."

"I want you to go out of here and stay out of here," returned the
father, losing all sense of logic, and descending to the ordinary
level of parental compulsion. "I don't want you to come around my
house any more. I have enough trouble without my daughter being taken
out and given a bad name."

"I tell you frankly," said the Senator, drawing himself up to his
full height, "that you will have to make clear your meaning. I have
done nothing that I am ashamed of. Your daughter has not come to any
harm through me. Now, I want to know what you mean by conducting
yourself in this manner."

"I mean," said Gerhardt, excitedly repeating himself, "I mean, I
mean that the whole neighborhood talks about how you come around here,
and have buggy-rides and walks with my daughter when I am not
here--that's what I mean. I mean that you are no man of honorable
intentions, or you would not come taking up with a little girl who is
only old enough to be your daughter. People tell me well enough what
you are. Just you go and leave my daughter alone."

"People!" said the Senator. "Well, I care nothing for your people.
I love your daughter, and I am here to see her because I do love her.
It is my intention to marry her, and if your neighbors have anything
to say to that, let them say it. There is no reason why you should
conduct yourself in this manner before you know what my intentions
are."

Unnerved by this unexpected and terrible altercation, Jennie had
backed away to the door leading out into the dining-room, and her
mother, seeing her, came forward.

"Oh," said the latter, breathing excitedly, "he came home when you
were away. What shall we do?" They clung together, as women do, and
wept silently. The dispute con