mustn't think of myself at all. See how loyally Annette and the rest
have stood by me. Their splendid loyalty is the one thing that makes it
worth while. I must keep up and fight on for their sakes. I must be as
true to them as they are to me. Would they desert me for anything? No!
And I shan't desert them. I am going to be elected. I know it. After
that, after the election is over, I may--I might, perhaps--"

"You might go somewhere with me and have a good, comfortable time. All
right, we will. And Gertie can go, too."

The mention of her daughter's name seemed to be more disturbing than all
the rest. Serena burst into tears.

"She wouldn't go, Daniel!" she cried. "You know she wouldn't. She--she
is going crazy, I do believe. She is wild about society and bridge--she
told me only yesterday she wasn't sure that playing for money was wrong.
All my friends and her friends did it and why shouldn't we? And she
dances all these dreadful new dances and uses slang and--and--oh, she
is--I don't know WHAT she will be if this keeps on. Why does she do it?
WHO is responsible?"

Daniel did not answer. He had a feeling that he could, without moving
from his chair, lay a hand upon the person chiefly responsible, but he
kept that feeling to himself.

"She'd go, if we wanted her to," he affirmed stoutly.

"No, she wouldn't."

"By time! she would. You and I would make her. I couldn't do it alone,
I know that, but if you'll say the word and stand by me she'll go, if
I have to--to give her ether and take her while she's asleep. Say the
word, that's all I want you to do."

Serena did not say the word, not then. She continued to moan and wring
her hands.

"She's all wrong, Daniel!" she cried. "She does wrong things. She
is with--with Cousin Percy too much. He and she are getting to be
altogether too friendly. She has dropped John for good, I'm afraid. Oh,
suppose she should--"

The captain's anger burst forth at this expression of his own secret
dread.

"Suppose she should marry that Hungerford, you mean!" he cried. "She
won't! She won't! She's too sensible, anyway; but, if she should, I--I'd
rather see her dead. Yes, sir, dead!"

"So had I. But Cousin Percy--"

"D--n Cousin Percy!"

For once his profanity met with no rebuke. Serena did not appear to
notice it.

"He is not the right sort of man for her," she declared. "He is polite
and aristocratic and he has helped us in society; but he is dissipated
and fast, I'm sure