“Eleanor, you don’t understand. This man’s conduct is criminal—is a grave offense against society—is an insult to me—a menace to our property——”
“Don’t try to scare me, papa,” laughed the girl. “You can’t. Maybe I don’t understand his political principles. What do I care for them? It’s a woman’s business to love and then to trust. I love him. So—whatever he says goes with me, you foolish old papa.” And she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him and mussed his carefully arranged beard with her chin.
Clearwater had the shrewd man’s knowledge of human nature, was not without insight into his daughter. It is a mistake to think that men are fooled because they let themselves be cajoled; they are fooled, usually, because they wish to be, because their vanity or their hope or their affection gives their cajoler the aid without which he—or she—would fail. Clearwater was well aware that Eleanor was artfully dodging the real issue. But how does knowledge that his beloved daughter is lovingly artful aid a loving father to corner her and bring her to ways of sense and reason?
“Let my beard alone,” said Clearwater fretfully. But no one would have been deceived; under the fretfulness there was the male, ashamed of his weakness of affection for the female—but none the less weak.
Eleanor laughed and persisted in the mussing and mauling.
“You can’t wheedle me, miss,” declared he.
“Of course I can,” laughed she. “You told me I could have him.”
“I didn’t know what kind of man he was. Now that I know, I forbid it.”
She kissed him. “Then I’ll marry him, anyhow. I’ve simply got to do it, papa. And—as Mr. Sayler says, if you were running for vice-president, or anything, it would be a good thing to have a man like George compelled to keep quiet.”
“He’d attack me just the same.”