“But, daddy,” clouding up for tears, “I thought you liked Fred so much!”

“I do, but it’s you I’m talking about.  Nobody can have you.”

“But I love him, daddy.  This is terrible.  I love him.”

“Oh, Ann, Ann! daddy hasn’t done right, perhaps, but he meant well.  There are reasons why he wants to keep his little girl with him always—­alone—­his.”

“But, daddy dear, I promise you we’ll never let you be lonely.  Why, I couldn’t stand leaving you any more than you could—­”

“Not those reasons alone, Ann.”

“Then what?”

“You’re so young,” he tried to procrastinate.

“I’ll be eighteen.  A woman.”

All his faculties were cornered.

“You’re—­so—­Oh, I don’t know—­I—­”

“You haven’t any reasons, dad, except dear silly ones.  You can’t keep me a little girl all the time, dear.  I love Fred. It’s all planned.  Don’t ruin my life, daddy—­don’t ruin my life.”

She was lovely in her tears and surprisingly resolute in her mind, and he was more helpless than ever with her.

“Ann—­you’re not strong.”

“Strong!” she cried, flinging back her curls and out her chest.  “That is a fine excuse.  I’m stronger than most.  All youngsters have measles and scarlet fever and Fred says his sister Lucile out in Des Moines had St. Vitus’ dance when she was eleven, just like I did.  I’m stronger than you are, dad.  I didn’t get the flu and you did.”

“You’re nervous, Annie.  That’s why I want always to keep you at home—­quiet—­with me.”

She sat back, her pretty eyes troubled-up lakes.

“You mean the dreams and the scared feeling, once in a while, that I can’t swallow.  That’s nothing.  I know now why I was so frightened in my sleep the other night.  I told Fred, and he said it was the peach sundae on top of the crazy old movie we saw that evening.  Why, Jeanette Peopping had to take a rest cure the year before she was married.  Girls are always more nervous than fellows.  Daddy—­you—­you frighten me when you look at me like that!  I don’t know what you mean!  What-do-you-mean?”

He was helpless and at bay and took her in his arms and kissed her hair.

“I guess your old daddy is a jealous pig and can’t bear to share his girl with anyone.  Can’t bear to—­to give her up.”

“You won’t be giving up, daddums.  I couldn’t stand that, either.  It will be three of us then.  You’ll see.  Look up and smile at your Ann Elizabeth.  Smile, now, smile.”

And of course he did.

It was typical of her that she should be the busiest of brides-to-be, her complete little trousseau, every piece down to the dishcloths, monogrammed by her—­A.E.W.