nded, but--but HE didn't.
If ever a feller was gone on a young woman he was, towards the last of
it. Why, he--"

"Hush! hush! Don't speak of it. It makes me disgusted with myself even
to think of him. If he was--was as you say, it is all the better. It
serves him right. And I think that it was with my--with your money,
Daddy, much more than your daughter, he was infatuated. I had the
satisfaction of telling him my opinion of him and his conduct before he
left."

"Ho! you did, hey? Humph! I wish I might have heard it. But, Gertie,"
his incredulity not entirely crushed, "it wasn't ALL make-believe; all
of it couldn't have been. Even Zuba, she got the advancin' craziness.
She joined a--a 'Band,' or somethin'."

"No, she didn't. She pretended to, but she didn't. There wasn't any such
'Band.' She was helping me to cure Mother, that's all. It was all part
of the plan. Her husband understands now, although," with a laugh, "he
didn't when he first came."

Daniel drew his hand across his forehead.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "WELL! and I--and I--"

"I treated you dreadfully, didn't I? Scolded you, and told you to go
away, and--and everything. I COULDN'T tell you the truth, because you
cannot keep a secret, but I was sorry, so sorry for you, even when you
were most provoking. You WOULD interfere, you know. Two or three times
you almost spoiled it all."

"Did I? I shouldn't wonder. And--and to think I never suspicioned a bit
of it!"

"I don't see why you didn't. It was so plain. I'm sure Mother
suspects--now."

"Probably she does. If I wasn't what I've called myself so much lately,
an old fool, I'd have suspected, too. I AM an old fool."

"No, you're not. You are YOU, and that is why I love you--why, everyone
who knows you loves you. I wouldn't have you changed one iota. You are
the dearest, best father in the world. And you are going to be happy
now, aren't you?"

"I--I don't know. I ought to be, I suppose. I guess I shall be--if I
ever get over thinkin' what a foolhead I was. So Zuba was part of it
all, hey? And John, too? He was in it, I presume likely."

Gertrude's expression changed; so did her tone.

"We won't talk about John, Daddy," she said. "Please don't."

"Why not? I want to talk about him. In a way--yes, sir! in a way I ain't
sure that--that I didn't have a hand in spoilin' that, too. Considerin'
what you've just told me, I wouldn't wonder if I did."

His daughter had risen to go. Now she turned back.