Your daughter has gone among her own kind with her love.
It is that fellow Storms--it is he whom your daughter's taste prefers." "Dorothy loves Mr.Storms," said Mr.Harley, speaking slowly, as men will on the receipt of surprising news.

"And she does not love you." After a thoughtful pause, Mr.Harley concluded: "It is a subject about which I should hesitate to counsel my daughter." "I do not ask you to counsel her; you shall compel her." "Why, sir!" exclaimed Mr.Harley, starting up and growing apoplectic with anger, "do you imagine that I'll force my child into your arms?
If you were that Czar whom you are so fond of quoting, I would not do it!" This came off in a great burst, and Mr.Harley in his turn began to pace the floor.

The two passed and repassed each other as they walked up and down, Mr.Harley puffing and swelling, Storri surveying him with leering superiority.
"Sit down!" cried Storri suddenly, after a minute spent in marching and countermarching.

"I will show you that you are in my hand." Storri had become calm and business-like; his new manner mystified Mr.
Harley and worked upon him.

He dropped into the chair to which Storri motioned him.