Leslie gave him a quick glance. His question came as a relief to her. She seemed on the point of answering it. "Yes," she began, and then pressed her hand against her lips. "I mean, no--I can't tell you anything except--that the whole thing is absolutely impossible. You would not understand if I told you. I should never want you to understand it." "Why wouldn't you?" "Because the instant that you understood it, you would find that you couldn't understand it," she told him enigmatically. "And yet," she murmured as though to herself, "it's all so clear, so plain to me." Beekman quickly caught her by the wrist. Her hand still clenched itself, and he could feel her nerves throbbing as with pain. "Your father tells me it's all right," he went on, his voice growing hoarser as he proceeded, for he couldn't see that he was making any headway with the girl; "he approves, gives his consent, all that sort of thing. He seemed glad, friendly. It seemed to be what he wanted. Why do you hesitate?" "I don't hesitate," she answered, though uncertainly. All the time she was praying that he would let her go. She wanted to escape. All that she wished for now was to get to her room at the top of the house, where in solitude she could rest and weep. "My father," she resumed, "knows nothing--nothing of my reasons. This is a matter of my own. Even he couldn't understand...." Beekman dropped her hand and said: "Leslie, tell me one thing: Is there some one else?" Leslie looked down without immediately replying and gradually grew pale. Then with one of her quick changes she looked up and her eyes met his in a clear, straight glance. "Yes," she said, tossing her head in the air, "there is some one else." "Who?" he demanded in a voice that was distinctly authoritative. The girl drew herself up to her full height and quietly reminded him that he had no right to ask the question. But when Beekman had gone, Leslie's face showed a peculiar change; the hardness dropped from it, and was replaced by a look of intense sadness. At the door of the Den she stopped to bid her father good-night. "Well," he called out cheerfully, motioning her to come in, "it's all over then?" Leslie seated herself upon the knee he offered her. She was pale and very tired. "Yes, it's all over--all over." Wilkinson was watching her closely. "You seem to take it hard, girlie," he returned, puzzled. "Yes," she sighed. He drew her girlish head down against his breast. "He's a bully boy for you, Leslie. Mrs. Governor Beekman, eh? Not bad! It's a good thing to have money, but it's a great thing to be a Mrs. Governor, too, and especially when the Governor happens to be a man and not one of those cheap politicians. I congratulate you, little one." "You never used to think much of him," she faltered. "True. But I didn't know him. I didn't know the stuff he was made of. Colonel Morehead sized him up right from the start. But he's the man for me, now, Beekman is, and no mistake."