"How long are you going on defying me like this?"
She tried to disengage herself, but his arm was too strong. "Oh,
father," she said, rather wearily, "don't let us go over this old
argument again."
"But suppose I find some new argument? Suppose I send you packing
altogether, refuse to contribute further to your support. What
then?"
She started at the threat but replied valiantly: "I should have to
earn my own living."
"How are you going to do it?"
"There are heaps of ways."
He laughed. "There ain't; as you'd soon find out. They don't even
pay you for being scullery-maid to a lot of common soldiers."
She protested against that view of her avocation. In the perfectly
appointed Wellingsford Hospital she had no scullery work. She was
a probationer, in training as a nurse. He still gripped her.
"The particular kind of tomfoolery you are up to doesn't matter.
We needn't quarrel. I've another proposition to put before you--
much more to your fancy, I think. You like this Mr. Randall
Holmes, don't you?"
She shivered a little and flushed deep red. Her father had never
touched on the matter before. She said, straining away:
"I don't want to talk about Mr.
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