“Don't, dear,” she begged. “You know you're only talking just because it is nice to make-believe. I like to hear you, too; but what is the use when it's ONLY make-believe? You know what father's health really is; you know how nervous he is. Doctor Powers told me he must not be overexcited or--or dreadful things might happen. You saw him at that horrid seance thing.” He shrugged. “If I didn't see I heard,” he admitted. “Yes, you heard. And you know how near--Now suppose I should tell him that you and I intended getting married and going to Trumet to live; what do you think would happen?” “But, look here, Lulie: You've got to tell him some time, because we ARE going to be married, you know.” “Are we? Yes, I--I hope we are. But, oh, Nelson, sometimes I get almost discouraged. I CAN'T leave him in that way, you know that. And, in a sense, I don't want to leave him, because he is my father and I love him.” “But, confound it, you love me, too, don't you?” “You know I do. But--but--oh, dear! What can I do?” He did not answer at once. After a moment he said, rebelliously: “You have got your own life to live. Your father has lived the biggest part of his. He hasn't any right to prevent your being happy. It would be different if he had any excuse for it, reasonable excuse. I'm a--well, I'm not a thief--or a fool, quite, I hope. I can provide for you comfortably and I'll do my level best to be a good husband to you. If there was any excuse for his hating me, any except that idiotic spirit craziness of his. And what right has he to order you around? A hundred years or so ago fathers used to order their sons and daughters to marry this one or the other, and if they didn't mind they disinherited 'em, or threw 'em out of doors, or some such stuff. At least, that's the way it worked, according to the books and plays. But that doesn't go nowadays. What right has he--” But again she touched his lips. “Don't, Nelson, please,” she said, gently. “Rights haven't anything to do with it, of course. You know they haven't, don't you? You know it's just--just that things are AS they are and that's all. If father was as he used to be, his real self, and he behaved toward you as he is doing, I shouldn't hesitate at all. I should marry you and feel I was doing exactly right. But now--” She stopped and he, stooping, caught a gleam of moisture where the moonlight touched her cheek. He put his arm about her waist. “Don't, dear,” he said, hastily. “I'm sorry. Forgive me, will you? Of course you're dead right and I've been talking like a jackass. I'll behave, honest I will.... But what ARE we going to do? I won't give you up, you know, no matter if every spirit control in--in wherever they come from orders me to.” She smiled. “Of course we're not going to give each other up,” she declared. “As for what we're going to do, I don't know. I suppose there is nothing to do for the present except to wait and--and hope father may change his mind. That's all, isn't it?”