ising that she was
possessed of some low feminine cunning in the way of adding up figures
and writing letters, made use of her in his office as general clerical
factotum.

When the war broke out, he discovered, to his horror, that Phyllis
actually had political ideas--unshakable, obstinate ideas opposed to
his own--and that he had been nourishing in his bosom a viperous
patriot. Phyllis, for her part, realised with equal horror the
practical significance of her father's windy theories. When Randall,
who had stolen her heart, took to visiting the house, in order, as far
as she could make out, to talk treason with her father, the strain of
the situation grew more than she could bear. She fled to Betty for
advice. Betty promptly stepped in and whisked her off to the hospital.

It was on the morning on which Randall interviewed me in the garden,
the morning after he had broken with Gedge that Phyllis, having a
little off-time, went home. She found her father in the office making
out a few bills. He thrust forward his long chin and aggressive beard
and scowled at her.

"Oh, it's you, is it? Come at last where your duty calls you, eh?"

"I always come when I can, father," she replied.

She bent down and kissed his cheek. He caught her roughly round the
waist and, leaning back in his chair, looked up at her sourly.

"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.