About an hour later, as he was at the front door to motor to the club, he met George Helm entering. He was so absorbed in the attempt to conceal his anger and hatred behind a manner of stiff politeness that he did not really look at Helm, therefore did not see Helm’s frigid bow far more ominous than his own lack of cordiality. “Impudent adventurer,” he muttered--when there was not a possibility of Helm’s hearing any faint rumble of that carefully suppressed wrath. He cursed his weakness of paternal affection, marveled at his unaccountable lack of the courage to rise up and put down the whole abominable business. At the club he took into his confidence old Senator Tingley, his bosom friend and his partner in many a stealthy business adventure which neither would have cared to have had visited by any ray of the sunlight of publicity. Business aside--how often it is necessary to leave out of account a man’s way of making his money!--business aside, Tingley was a kindly old patriarch, as genial as wise. Said he: “George, it’s the same old story.” “He’s got her hypnotized,” said Clearwater. “Don’t talk like a child,” replied Tingley. “Nature’s got her hypnotized. You could have prevented this if you’d married her off pretty soon after she got to the marriageable age. She’s simply obeying nature that refuses to be put off any longer. We parents are damn fools not to realize that our children, even our pure, innocent daughters, are human.” Clearwater did not see how to deny Tingley’s unromantic but impressively simple and sensible explanation. However, he felt that he owed it to his daughter’s innocence to say something in mitigation. Said he: “She seems to be in love with him.” “And probably will be after they’re married. Certainly will be, if he knows his business at all. He’ll have the inside track and it’ll be his fault if he don’t convince her that he, the only man she ever knew, is a wonder of a special creation. She’ll never suspect that all men are pretty much the same.” Clearwater winced before the frankness of his friend, too old to make pretenses and too wise to believe them. Said he: “Aaron, how can I break it up?” “Well--in a nominating convention, if you want to beat a popular candidate, you’ve got to have a man to beat him with. It’s the same way in these heart matters. Find another man--one she’ll like better.” Clearwater groaned. “These damned young nincompoops you find round in society!” he cursed. “Really I can’t blame her for taking the first fellow with jump and ginger.” Old Tingley nodded. “The altar men--the fellows that’ll marry young girls--do seem to be mighty poor pickings. At least here in Washington--in ‘our set.’”