Henry Porter was caught by the real note in his daughter’s voice as he passed the door, and, stopping where he could see as well as hear, he was enlightened by the tale her face was telling. He was mad all over in a minute, and he made short work of it. "Git out of my house," he blurted out at Hayward as he stalked angrily into the midst of Lily’s melodious love-making. "I tol’ you once I didn’ want any footman callin’ on my daughter!" "Oh, papa! What do you mean?" Lily cried, springing up from the piano. "I mean git out when I say git out!" "Wait a moment, Mr. Hayward," Lily called to the footman, who, chin in air, was leaving the room, truth to tell, no little relieved at this complete solution of what was fast becoming an embarrassing situation for him. "No use to wait. Move on!" the father growled, placing himself across the door to prevent Lily’s following her caller. Upon her attempt to push by him he caught her and shoved her into a chair. As the outer door closed with a very modest and well-mannered snap, he released his hold upon her arm. He was yet in a fury. "So you’ve lied to me! Thought you could fool your ol’ daddy! But I guess not!" "I haven’t lied to you." "You have! You tol’ me you were goin’ to marry a military man, and here you are, dead gone on this footman—and no use to deny out of it!" Lily didn’t attempt to deny it. "Umhuh, I knew it! Already promised him, ain’t yuh?" No denial of that either, to her father’s consternation. "What! And you a-tellin’ me all the time you were goin’ to marry a military man! You lyin’ huzzy!" "But he’s a military man—he’s the John H. Graham whose commission is before the Senate—now I hope you are satisfied!" Henry Porter stopped his stamping about and looked at his daughter several seconds in silence. "He’s—he’s who?" he asked in astonishment. "He’s the same John H. Graham you were reading about in the _Post_ this morning—the man the President has appointed a lieutenant in the cavalry." "But his name’s not Graham." "His name _is_ Graham—John Hayward Graham—Lieutenant John Hayward Graham when the Senate confirms it." Old Henry looked a little bit nonplussed. His daughter took courage. She jumped up and grabbed him. "Come on right now and write him an apology, and send it so that it will get to his rooms by the time he does!" Old Henry demurred. His dignity was a very real thing—as hard and substantial as his dollars. "Oh, no, no. Wait awhile. Le’s think about it. No use to be in a hurry. He’ll come back agin. What did he go sneakin’ roun’ here without his name for if he wanted people to treat him right? A man’s got no business monkeyin’ with his name." "But you _must_ write him an apology, papa. You just must!" "Oh, well, mebbe I will. But I’ll wait till to-morrer. Better wait till the Senate confirms him though, and be certain about it."