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 fashioned 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.

"In one particular matter," said she slowly, at last. "It seems to me a
woman should be stubborn. She should have her own say about the man she
is to marry."

"How much time have you had to decide on this?"

"Plenty. Twenty-four hours, or a little less--no, I'll say twenty
minutes. Plent