Winona had maneuvered her father from the chair, nor had she the grace to veil her subterfuge after she lured him to the back of the house. She merely again had wished to know what, in plain terms, his ailment was; what, for that matter, had been the trouble with him for twenty years. The judge fell speechless with dismay.
"You eat well and you sleep well, and you're well nourished" went on the daughter, remorseless all at once.
"Little you know," began the judge at last.
"But I shall know, Father. Remember, I've learned things. I'm going to take you in hand. I may even have to be severe with you but all for your own good."
She spoke with icy conviction. There was a new, cold gleam in her prying eyes. The judge suffered genuinely.
"I should think you had learned things!" he protested, miserably. "For one thing, miss, that skirt ain't a respectable garment."
Winona slid one foot toward him.
"Pooh! Don't be silly!" Never before had Winona poohed her father.
"Cigarette fiend, too," accused the judge.
"My husband got me to stop."