"Oh, papa! would you break my heart?"

"My precious one, I would save you from a life of misery."

"Ah, papa! you would never say that if you knew how--how I love him,"
she murmured, a deep blush suffusing her face.

"Hush! it horrifies me to hear you speak so of so vile a wretch,--a
drinking, swearing gambler, swindler, and rake; for I have learned
that he is all these."

"Papa, it is not true! I will not hear such things said of him, even
by you!" she cried, the hot blood dyeing her face and neck, and the
soft eyes filling with indignant tears.

He put his finger upon her lips. "My daughter forgets to whom she is
speaking," he said with something of the old sternness, though there
was tender pity also in his tones.

"Oh, papa, I am so wretched!" she sobbed, hiding her face on his
breast. "Oh, don't believe what they say; it isn't, it can't be true."

He caressed her silently, then taking the photograph from his pocket,
asked, "Do you know that face?"

"Yes, it is his."

"I knew it, and it is also the face of the man whose character I have
just described."