dvanced position. "That's all I ask."

"But I told you all about it, father," said Josephine angrily. "They've
been distorting the truth, and the truth is to his credit."

Norman avoided the glance she sent to him; it was only a glance and
away, for more formidably than ever his power was enthroned in his
haggard face. He stood with his back to the fire and it was plain that
the muscles of his strong figure were braced to give and to receive a
shock. "Mr. Burroughs," he said, "your daughter is mistaken. Perhaps it
is my fault--in having helped her to mislead herself. The plain truth
is, I have become infatuated with a young woman. She cares nothing about
me--has repulsed me. I have been and am making a fool of myself about
her. I've been hoping to cure myself. I still hope. But I am not cured."

There was absolute silence in the room. Norman stole a glance at
Josephine. She was sitting erect, a greenish pallor over her ghastly
face.

He said: "If she will take me, now that she knows the truth, I shall be
grateful--and I shall make what effort I can to do my best."

He looked at her and she at him. And for an instant her eyes softened.
There was the appeal of weak human heart to weak human heart in his
gaze. Her lip quivered. A brief struggle between vanity and love--and
vanity, the stronger, the strongest force in her life, dominating it
since earliest babyhood and only seeming to give way to love when love
came--it was vanity that won. She stiffened herself and her mouth curled
with proud scorn. She laughed--a sneer of jealous rage. "Father," she
said, "the lady in the case is a common typewriter in his office."

But to men--especially to practical men--differences of rank and
position among women are not fundamentally impressive. Man is in the
habit of taking what he wants in the way of womankind wherever he finds
it, and he understands that habit in other men. He was furious with
Norman, but he did not sympathize with his daughter's extreme attitude.
He said to Norman sharply:

"You say you have broken with the woman?"

"She has broken with me," replied Norman.

"At any rate, everything is broken off."

"Apparently."

"Then there is no reason why the marriage should not go on." He turned
to his daughter. "If you understood men, you would attach no importance
to this matter. As you yourself said, the woman isn't a lady--isn't in
our class. That sort of thing amounts to nothing. Norman has acted well.
He h