man who has loved you there. I've seen how
much he has helped you--how you have grown and he has grown since you two
got together. And if you throw him over now, it seems to me you are not
only losing what has done the most for your work, but you're running away
from life as well. You've never won by doing that, you've always won by
meeting life, never evading it, taking it all, living it full, taking
chances! If you marry Baird, I see you both go on together in your work,
while in your home you struggle through the troubles, tangles, joys and
griefs which most of us mortals know so well! I see you in a world of
children, but with children, too, of your own--to keep your spirit always
young! Living on in your children's lives!"

Roger stopped abruptly. He groped for something more to say.

"On the one side, all that," he muttered, "and on the other, a lonely life
which will soon grow old."

There fell a dangerous silence. And sharply without warning, the influence,
deep and invisible, of many generations of stolid folk in New England made
itself felt in each of them. Father and daughter grew awkward, both. The
talk had been too emotional. Each made, as by an instinct, a quick strong
effort at self-control, and felt about for some way to get back upon their
old easy footing. Roger turned to his daughter. Her head was still bent,
her hands clasped tight, but she was frowning down at them now, although
her face was still wet with tears. She drew a deep unsteady breath.

"Well, Deborah," he said simply, "here I've gone stumbling on like a fool.
I don't know what I've said or how you have listened."

"I've listened," she said thickly.

"I have tried," he went on in a steadier tone, "to give you some feeling of
what is ahead--and to speak for your mother as well as myself. And more
than that--much more than that--for the world has changed since she was
here. God knows I've tried to be modern." A humorous glint came into his
eyes, "Downright modern," he declared. "Have I asked you to give up your
career? Not at all, I've asked you to marry Baird, and go right on with him
in your work. And if you can't marry Allan Baird, after what he has done
for you, how in God's name can you modern women ever marry anyone? Now what
do you say? Will you marry him? Don't laugh at me! I'm serious! Talk!"

But Deborah was laughing--although her father felt her hands still cold
and trembling in his. Her gray eyes, bright and luminous, were