“Of course, of course. And false prophets shall arise. Don’t let that trouble you, Edna. If our wills become seriously opposed, we will come here to the downs and talk it all over. I’ll warrant we’ll hit on a compromise.” “But suppose a compromise were not possible?” “Dear me, Edna, what’s on your mind? You are talking in generalities and thinking in particulars. What is it, my girl?” Edna shook her head. “I don’t know why it is,” she said at last, “but I feel afraid of the future. It seems so uncertain, and I should never like anything to come between us.” “Nonsense, Edna. What should come between us? All that is merely a little touch of the pessimism of youth, accentuated by the doleful fact that you are now a woman of independent means. Suppose our stubborn wills come into collision, as you fear, do you know what will happen?” “What?” “Well--it’s an awful thing for a father to say to a daughter--but I’ll give way. Think of that! What a humiliating confession for me to make!--a man who has refused to budge an inch before the united demands of some hundreds of men, backed by the pathetic entreaties of my own employers. If that isn’t a victory for a small girl, what is?” “Oh, no!” cried Edna, her eyes quickly filling. “I’ll give way--I’ll give way--even if it breaks my heart!” Her father stopped in his walk, and grasped her by the shoulders. The girl’s head drooped, and she put one hand over her eyes. “Ah, Edna, Edna, there’s something at the back of all this; I won’t ask you what it is, my pet, but some day you’ll tell me, perhaps.” He drew her to his breast, and, pushing aside her hat, caressed her fair hair lovingly. “If your mother were alive, dearest, we--well, there is little use of either grieving or wishing. We must make the best of things as they are. But don’t bother about the stubborn wills, Edna; we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. You see, we are both competing to see who shall give way first, and there’s nothing very stubborn about that. Now, my girl, I’ve disarranged that pretty hat, and a stranger who didn’t know might think you had been crying. This will never do. Let us talk sensibly, for I imagine that before long I’ll have all the fighting I need to keep me in form, without having a contest with my only daughter.” “What do you mean, father?” “Oh, there’s the usual ferment among the men. They are seething and foaming and vapouring, and I feel it in my bones that we will have another strike before long.” “Led by Mr. Marsten?” “By him, of course. But I’ll beat him! I’ll crumple him up so that he will wonder why he ever started the fight. It’s a pity to see him waste his energy and his brains in a hopeless struggle. He’s clever and indefatigable, but a visionary and an enthusiast, and when he stops dreaming of impossibilities he will be a most valuable man.” “What impossibilities, father?” asked the girl, almost in a whisper, gazing at the ground.