d expression came back into his face, as he
answered curtly:

"Forgive me for speaking plainly, but my son's marriage with such a
woman as you has made it impossible to even consider the question of
reconciliation."

With all her efforts at self-control, Annie would have been more than
human had she not resented the insinuation in this cruel speech. For a
moment she forgot the importance of preserving amicable relations, and
she retorted:

"Such a woman as me? That's pretty plain----. But you'll have to speak
even more plainly. What do you mean when you say such a woman as me?
What have I done?"

Mr. Jeffries looked out of the window without answering, and she went
on:

"I worked in a factory when I was nine years old, and I've earned my
living ever since. There's no disgrace in that, is there? There's
nothing against me personally--nothing disgraceful, I mean. I know I'm
not educated. I'm not a lady in your sense of the word, but I've led a
decent life. There isn't a breath of scandal against me--not a breath.
But what's the good of talking about me? Never mind me. I'm not asking
for anything. What are you going to do for him? He must have the best
lawyer that money can procure--none of those bar-room orators. Judge
Brewster, your lawyer, is the man. We want Judge Brewster."

Mr. Jeffries shrugged his shoulders.

"I repeat--my son's marriage with the daughter of a man who died in
prison----"

She interrupted him.

"That was hard luck--nothing but hard luck. You're not going to make me
responsible for that, are you? Why, I was only eight years old when that
happened. Could I have prevented it?" Recklessly she went on: "Well,
blame it on me if you want to, but don't hold it up against Howard. He
didn't know it when he married me. He never would have known it but for
the detectives employed by you to dig up my family history, and the
newspapers did the rest. God! what they didn't say! I never realized I
was of so much importance. They printed it in scare-head lines. It made
a fine sensation for the public, but it destroyed my peace of mind."

"A convict's daughter!" said Mr. Jeffries contemptuously.

"He was a good man at that!" she answered hotly. "He kept the squarest
pool room in Manhattan, but he refused to pay police blackmail, and he
was railroaded to prison." Indignantly she went on: "If my father's
shingle had been up in Wall Street, and he'd made fifty dishonest
millions, you'd forget it next morni