She dried her eyes and began to think.  Surely her woman’s wit would find some way.  She thought of Jefferson.  Would he come to Massapequa?  It was hardly probable.  He would certainly learn of the change in their circumstances and his sense of delicacy would naturally keep him away for some time even if other considerations, less unselfish, did not.  Perhaps he would be attracted to some other girl he would like as well and who was not burdened with a tragedy in her family.  Her tears began to flow afresh until she hated herself for being so weak while there was work to be done to save her father.  She loved Jefferson.  Yes, she had never felt so sure of it as now.  She felt that if she had him there at that moment she would throw herself in his arms crying:  “Take me, Jefferson, take me away, where you will, for I love you!  I love you!” But Jefferson was not there and the rickety chairs in the tiny bedroom and the cheap prints on the walls seemed to jibe at her in her misery.  If he were there, she thought as she looked into a cracked mirror, he would think her very ugly with her eyes all red from crying.  He would not marry her now in any case.  No self-respecting man would.  She was glad that she had spoken to him as she had in regard to marriage, for while a stain remained upon her father’s name marriage was out of the question.  She might have yielded on the question of the literary career, but she would never allow a man to taunt her afterwards with the disgrace of her own flesh and blood.  No, henceforth her place was at her father’s side until his character was cleared.  If the trial in the Senate were to go against him, then she could never see Jefferson again.  She would give up all idea of him and everything else.  Her literary career would be ended, her life would be a blank.  They would have to go abroad, where they were not known, and try and live down their shame, for no matter how innocent her father might be the world would believe him guilty.  Once condemned by the Senate, nothing could remove the stigma.  She would have to teach in order to contribute towards the support, they would manage somehow.  But what a future, how unnecessary, how unjust!

Suddenly she thought of Jefferson’s promise to interest his father in their case and she clutched at the hope this promise held out as a drowning man clutches at a drifting straw.  Jefferson would not forget his promise and he would come to Massapequa to tell her of what he had done.  She was sure of that.  Perhaps, after all, there was where their hope lay.  Why had she not told her father at once?  It might have relieved his mind.  John Burkett Ryder, the Colossus, the man of unlimited power!  He could save her father and he would.  And the more she thought about it, the more cheerful and more hopeful she became, and she started to dress quickly so that she might hurry down to tell her father the good news.  She was actually sorry now that she had said so many hard things of Mr. Ryder in her book and she was worrying over the thought that her father’s case might be seriously prejudiced if the identity of the author were ever revealed, when there came a knock at her door.  It was Eudoxia.