"Yes, a milliner—I believe. But a good woman."
"Ah!"
She still looked at him, smiling. "I am 'advanced,' you see, Nunkie! In college we studied things. I don't care for the social rank—I want to marry a man. I love Don. I love—well, that kind of man. I'm so happy!"
She squeezed him tight in a sudden warm embrace. "I love all the world, I believe, Nunkie—even you, and you are an old bear, as everybody knows! And I thank you for all those papers in the long envelopes—with the lines and the crosses on them, and the pencil mark 'Sign here'—powers of attorney and receipts, and bonds and shares and mortgages and certificates—all that sort of thing. Am I very rich, Nunkie?"
"Not very, as heiresses go these days," said he. "You're worth maybe four or five hundred thousand dollars, not very much. But that's not the question. That's not really everything there is at stake in this—although I'm well enough satisfied that's all this young man cares for."
"Thank you!" said she proudly. "I had not known that."
"A good many things you have not known, my dear. Now listen here. Do you know what this marriage would mean to me? I want to be United States Senator from this state—and everything bids fair to see my ambition gratified. But politics is a ticklish game."
"Well, what on earth has that to do with me and Don?"
"It has everything to do! I'm not 'advanced,' I'm old fashioned enough to know that social rank does count in my business at least. In politics every little thing counts; so I tell you, for every reason in the world you must dismiss this young man from your thoughts. You are quixotic, I know—you are stubborn, like your mother—a good woman, but stubborn."
He was arguing with her, but Anne could not read his face, although she sought to do so—there seemed some veil hiding his real thoughts. And his face was troubled. She thought he had aged very much.