e seen only the outside
exaggeration of it. He has acted with honor and good judgment--"

"Oh, he has, has he? Well, we'll see about that!" His mind had taken a
new turn. "He won't have anything in his hand six months from now. No
West Point dude like him can set himself up against the power of this
State and live."

"Now, papa, don't start in to abuse Captain Curtis; he is our host, and
it isn't seemly."

"Oh, it isn't! Well, I don't care whether it is or is not; I shall speak
my mind. His whole attitude has been hostile to the best interests of
the State, and he must get off his high horse."

As he growled and sneered his way through a long diatribe, she brought
water and bathed his face and hands and brushed his hair, her anger
melting into pity as she comprehended how weak and broken he was. She
had observed it before in times of great fatigue, but the heat and dust
and discomfort of the drive had reduced the big body, debilitated by
lack of exercise, to a nerveless lump, his brain to a mass of incoherent
and savage impulses. No matter what he said thereafter, she realized his
pitiable weakness and felt no anger.

As he rested he grew calmer, and at last consented to lie down while she
made a little tea on an alcohol lamp. After sipping the tea he fell
asleep, and she sat by his side, her mind filled with the fundamental
conception of a daughter's obligation to her sire. To her he was no
longer a great politician, no longer a powerful, aggressive business
man--he was only her poor, old, dying father, to whom she owed her every
comfort, her education, her jewels, her art. He had never been a
companion to her--his had been the rule absolute--and yet a hundred
indulgences, a hundred really kind and considerate acts came thronging
to her mind as she fanned his flushed face.

"I must go with him," she said; "it is my duty."

Curtis came to the door again and tapped. She put her finger to her
lips, and so he stood silent, looking in at her. His eyes called her and
she rose and tiptoed to the door.

"I came to ask you both to dinner," he whispered.

Her eyes filled with quick tears. "That's good of you," she returned, in
a low voice. "But he would not come. He's only a poor, old, broken man,
after all." Her voice was apologetic in tone. "I hope you will not be
angry." They both stood looking down at him. "He has failed terribly in
the last few weeks. His campaigning will kill him. I wish he would give
it up. He