ill go out of my life; but, my darling,
my darling, I won't--you shall never have it to say that your mother
stood in your way. I must think, however, of what your father will say
to this. I can only warn you that if there is one person your father
dreads and dislikes more than another, it is the modern girl. He said to
me, 'Thank God, Effie has none of that hideous modernity about her. She
is fairly good-looking; she does not think about Girton or Newnham, or
any of the women's colleges; in short, she has no advanced ideas.'"

"That is all he knows," replied Effie. "The fact is, I must and will do
something to earn my living. You are sending George out into the world
to win his spurs, and I am going to win mine."

"In what way?" asked Mrs. Staunton. "You know you are not clever."

"Dorothy thinks I can be a nurse, mother. May she come and see you, and
talk it all over?"

"There is no harm in talking it over," said Mrs. Staunton. "But now I
wish you would go upstairs and help Susan to put the children to bed.
You can bring baby downstairs if you like, and I will undress him. Run
along, Effie--run along, there's a good child."

"Oh, yes, mother, I'll go; only just answer me one question first. May
Dorothy come here after supper to-night?"

"What is the use of my seeing her? Your father is the one to decide."

"I will ask father to stay in after supper."

"I don't think he will. A message has come from the Watson people over
at the farm. Mrs. Watson was taken bad with a stitch an hour ago, and
they want your father as quickly as he can go."

"Well, he will be back in time--he won't spend the whole evening there.
Anyhow, Dorothy can come and see you, and if father does come in before
she leaves, well and good. I may run and tell her to come, may I not?"

"Won't you put the children to bed first, and bring me baby?"

"Oh, yes, yes, if you insist."

"I do, Effie; while you are at home you must help me all you can. I have
not had a bit of strength since baby was born. It is perfectly dreadful
to feel all your strength going and to know that things are at sixes and
sevens, and however hard you try you cannot put them right. Dear me,
Effie, I did think when you were grown up that you would stay at home
and be a comfort to me."

"I shall be a greater comfort to you when I send you money from London.
Now, don't speak another word. I will put the children to bed, and I
will look after baby myself, while you close you