d throw herself in his arms crying: "Take me,
Jefferson, take me away, where you will, for I love you! I love
you!" But Jefferson was not there and the rickety chairs in the
tiny bedroom and the cheap prints on the walls seemed to jibe at
her in her misery. If he were there, she thought as she looked
into a cracked mirror, he would think her very ugly with her eyes
all red from crying. He would not marry her now in any case. No
self-respecting man would. She was glad that she had spoken to him
as she had in regard to marriage, for while a stain remained upon
her father's name marriage was out of the question. She might have
yielded on the question of the literary career, but she would
never allow a man to taunt her afterwards with the disgrace of her
own flesh and blood. No, henceforth her place was at her father's
side until his character was cleared. If the trial in the Senate
were to go against him, then she could never see Jefferson again.
She would give up all idea of him and everything else. Her
literary career would be ended, her life would be a blank. They
would have to go abroad, where they were not known, and try and
live down their shame, for no matter how innocent her father might
be the world would believe him guilty. Once condemned by the
Senate, nothing could remove the stigma. She would have to teach
in order to contribute towards the support, they would manage
somehow. But what a future, how unnecessary, how unjust!

Suddenly she thought of Jefferson's promise to interest his father
in their case and she clutched at the hope this promise held out
as a drowning man clutches at a drifting straw. Jefferson would
not forget his promise and he would come to Massapequa to tell her
of what he had done. She was sure of that. Perhaps, after all,
there was where their hope lay. Why had she not told her father at
once? It might have relieved his mind. John Burkett Ryder, the
Colossus, the man of unlimited power! He could save her father and
he would. And the more she thought about it, the more cheerful and
more hopeful she became, and she started to dress quickly so that
she might hurry down to tell her father the good news. She was
actually sorry now that she had said so many hard things of Mr.
Ryder in her book and she was worrying over the thought that her
father's case might be seriously prejudiced if the identity of the
author were ever revealed, when there came a knock at her door. It
was Eudoxia.

"Plea