"Straw man?" he exclaimed angrily. "Is it a straw man that our Ann laughs no more? Is it a straw man that we never hear her singing home across the bluffs? Is it a straw man that her sweet face has been taking on lines of worry, ill fitting the face of Ann Rutledge? Is it a straw man that she was forced into a promise to keep a secret--a dishonorable secret--from her own father and mother? There's no straw man about any such thing as this." John Rutledge sat down and lit his pipe. After it was smoking well, Mrs. Rutledge said, "What shall I say to Ann?" "Tell Ann to come to me," he said shortly. Mrs. Rutledge went out, and a moment later Ann came. When she entered the room her father was standing with his back to the fireplace, his hands behind him. "Yes, father," she said quietly. John Rutledge surveyed her a moment. What he was thinking of she had not time to consider, but the expression on his face seemed to be a combination of wrath and pity, of love and outraged justice. "A man called John McNeil asked my consent to marry you, Ann." "Yes, Father"; her voice was a trifle unsteady. "I supposed him to be the honorable and straight-faced young gentleman he seemed to be." She made no reply. John Rutledge blew out a couple of puffs of smoke. "From your mother I have just learned that there is no such person as John McNeil." "No, Father." "This McNamra, or whoever he may be, may turn up in these parts again some time." "I don't know"; and the tremor had not left her voice. "He might have the unmitigated hardihood to expect to marry the daughter of John Rutledge, the girl he courted under the name of McNeil. If he should--if he should come back and should even look like he thought of such a thing--I would--would----" "Father," Ann said softly, stepping nearer him, for she saw that he was angry, "you wouldn't do anything wrong." "Wrong?" he said. "Wrong--no--nothing wrong--what I'd do would be right"; and he turned and knocked his pipe against the chimney with such force as to threaten its existence. "Perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps he will return some day just as he said he would." "Perhaps--perhaps. But is he telling the truth about his name? No, he is lying. One way or another he has lied to a woman, and a man who will desert his own father and mother would desert his wife. I'm not condemning him too hard, but he will never marry John Rutledge's daughter. Do you understand, Ann." "Yes, Father"; her voice was unsteady. "He has put you in a most embarrassing position--more than you know. You will be talked about when his double life is known, and, since it is bound to come out, the sooner the better, and I shall see to that. Gossips will discuss matters that's none of their business, but they will not go too far, my girl, for John Rutledge is your father." "Perhaps I will hear from him--even yet," she said with an effort.