"Nonsense, child! You've got money," protested her father, puzzled, "at least you have so long as I don't jump the bail."
"Oh, how I wish you would!" she cried, startled into sudden ecstasy by the thought. Then she went on: "Money, what is money to me? What was it to Eliot? Nothing save an obstacle. That isn't it; you haven't understood; and to tell you I've got to hurt—I've got to say things that—oh, don't misunderstand me, please...."
"I'll misunderstand you if you don't go on," blurted out Wilkinson, unfeelingly. "Quick, now!"
"Why won't you understand, father, that it's because he has everything to offer, while I have nothing. He's been given the highest office that the State has to give—a position that he thought would entitle him to me—and I, who am I ...?"
"You're the woman he wants, the woman he's earned, girlie," said her father, his voice softening.
"I am the daughter of a convict," she went on swiftly, her tones cutting into the air like frost.
Her father stared at her aghast for an instant. Then he slowly returned to his seat at his desk and slumped into it heavily, and groaned.
"Ye gods, but you're harsh!" he cried.
"You wanted to know why," she answered, "and now you do not understand—you're everything to me, everything, father. But the reason—the world, the people of whom Eliot is going to be governor, they look only on the record, and I'm not his equal. Upon me rests this taint—I'm not complaining—I'm glad to stand by you, father.... But I have pride—how can I, with this disgrace upon us, give myself to Eliot Beekman?"