w much till to-day, did we? We must stand by each other
now. Father is going to clear his name of this preposterous charge
and we're going to help him, aren't we, mother? We're not helpless
just because we are women. We're going to work, mother and I."

"Work?" echoed Mrs. Rossmore, somewhat scandalized.

"Work," repeated Shirley very decisively.

The judge interfered. He would not hear of it.

"You work, Shirley? Impossible!"

"Why not? My book has been selling well while I was abroad. I
shall probably write others. Then I shall write, too, for the
newspapers and magazines. It will add to our income."

"Your book--'The American Octopus,' is selling well?" inquired the
judge, interested.

"So well," replied Shirley, "that the publishers wrote me in Paris
that the fourth edition was now on the press. That means good
royalties. I shall soon be a fashionable author. The publishers
will be after me for more books and we'll have all the money we
want. Oh, it is so delightful, this novel sensation of a literary
success!" she exclaimed with glee. "Aren't you proud of me, dad?"

The judge smiled indulgently. Of course he was glad and proud. He
always knew his Shirley was a clever girl. But by what strange
fatality, he thought to himself, had his daughter in this book of
hers assailed the very man who had encompassed his own ruin? It
seemed like the retribution of heaven. Neither his daughter nor
the financier was conscious of the fact that each was indirectly
connected with the impeachment proceedings. Ryder could not dream
that "Shirley Green," the author of the book which flayed him so
mercilessly, was the daughter of the man he was trying to crush.
Shirley, on the other hand, was still unaware of the fact that it
was Ryder who had lured her father to his ruin.

Mrs. Rossmore now insisted on Shirley going to her room to rest.
She must be tired and dusty. After changing her travelling dress
she would feel refreshed and more comfortable. When she was ready
to come down again luncheon would be served. So leaving the judge
to his papers, mother and daughter went upstairs together, and
with due maternal pride Mrs. Rossmore pointed out to Shirley all
the little arrangements she had made for her comfort. Then she
left her daughter to herself while she hurried downstairs to look
after Eudoxia and luncheon.

When, at last, she could lock herself in her room where no eye
could see her, Shirley threw herself down on the bed