Lowell had met his daughter at the depot behind his pair of Kentucky thoroughbreds. This daughter, his only child, was his pride and joy. She was a blonde beauty, and her resemblance to her father was remarkable. He was a widower, and this lovely girl, at once the incarnation of his lost love and so fair a reflection of his being, had ruled him with absolute sway during the past few years. He was laughing like a boy at her coming. “Oh! my beauty, the sight of your face gives me new life!” he cried smiling with love and admiration. “You mustn’t try to spoil me!” she laughed. “Did you really have a good time in Dixie?” he whispered. “Oh! Papa, such a time!” she exclaimed shutting her eyes as though she were trying to live it over again. “Really?” “Beaux, morning, noon and night,--dancing, moonlight rides, boats gliding along the beautiful river and mocking birds singing softly their love-song under the window all night!” “Well you did have romance,” he declared. “Yes,” she went on “and such people, such hospitality--oh! I feel as though I never had lived before.” “My dear, you mustn’t desert us all like that,” he protested. “I can’t help it, I’m a rebel now.” “Then keep still till the campaign’s over!” he warned in mock fear. “And the boys down there,” she continued, “they are such boys! Time doesn’t seem to be an object with them at all. Evidently they have never heard of our uplifting Yankee motto ‘_Time is money._’ And such knightly deference! such charming old fashioned chivalrous ways!” “But, dear, isn’t that a little out of date?” “How staid and proper and busy Boston seems! I know I am going to be depressed by it.” “I know what’s the matter with you!” he whistled. “What?” she slyly asked. “One of those boys.” “I confess. Papa, he’s as handsome as a prince.” “What does he look like?” “He is tall, dark, with black hair, black eyes, slender, graceful, all fire and energy.” “What’s his name?” “St. Clare--Robert St. Clare. His father was away from home. He’s a politician, I think.” “You don’t say! St. Clare. Well of all the jokes! His father is my Democratic chum in the House--an old fire-eating Bourbon, but a capital fellow.” “Did you ever see _him?_” “No, but I’ve had good times with his father. He used to own a hundred slaves. He’s a royal fellow, and pretty well fixed in life for a Southern politician. I don’t think though I ever saw his boy. Anything really serious?” “He hasn’t said a word--but he’s coming to see me next week.” “Well things are moving, I must say!” “Yes, I pretended I must consult you, before telling him he could come. I didn’t want to seem too anxious. I’m half afraid to let him wander about Boston much, there are too many girls here.” Her father laughed proudly and looked at her. “I hope you will find him all your heart most desires, and my congratulations on your first love!” “It will be my last, too,” she answered seriously. “Ah! you’re too young and pretty to say that!”