Pen put herself determinedly between him and the door. "Sorry," she said. "But I have some rights as well as your ideas." "Only an ignorant person sneers at ideas," he said loftily. Pen refused to be drawn aside. She began mildly: "Now that this business is over, I hope there's no objection to my going away for a little while." His eyes narrowed and hardened as a weak and stubborn man's must. "Why should you go away now?" he demanded. "The trouble is over. This is the best place to rest." "Just the same I must go," said Pen. "Will you give me the money?" "I'll take you for a visit to Cousin Laura Lee at Frederick," he said. "The trip will do us both good." "I must have more of a change than that," said Pen patiently. "I need six hundred dollars." "Preposterous!" he cried. "You know I have no such sum to fritter away!" "I have worked for you six years," said Pen wistfully. "A hundred dollars a year does not seem much!" "Oh, if you're going to measure your duty towards me in dollars and cents!" "But I'm not! I..." "That's enough. I am your father. I am the best judge of what is right for you." Pen was too sore at heart to be very patient. "You got more money from Mr. Riever this morning," she said at a venture. There was a significant exchange of glances, startled on his part, quietly assured on hers. He saw that it was useless to deny it. "Well, if I did," he said with dignity, "you may be sure it wasn't a gift. I gave a fair return for it ... Anyway, that's my capital. I can't spend it." "Did you undertake to keep me here for him?" Pen asked quietly. By the way he puffed out his cheeks and wagged his head she saw that she had guessed somewhere near the truth. She was unspeakably saddened. Her father! What was the use? Meanwhile he was noisy in his aggrieved protestations. "How can you say such a thing! Am I not your father? You must know that every act of mine is solely directed by a concern for your good. My life is devoted to that end." Pen struggled on, though she was convinced of the hopelessness of it. "I grant that," she said. "Willingly! But you might be mistaken ..." "Never!" he cried, without any notion of his absurdity. "Well, we mustn't quarrel," said Pen. "I appeal to your affection for me. I seldom ask you for anything. I am not one of the flighty kind. You must see that I am in deadly earnest. I _must_ go away! If I were kept here I should go out of my mind!" But cupidity had for the moment overcome his natural affections--as it has a way of doing. "Pooh! you're talking like a flighty girl now," he said loftily. "Permit me to be the judge of what is best for you." "Oh, all right," said Pen with a sudden change of tone. "Let's say no more about it." Pendleton was a little astonished by his victory, for his case was bad. "Well, that's my own girl!" he said, approaching her full of fine, fatherly approval.