“I think Roger will urge you to please your father.” “Father was glad enough for Roger to study.” “That was because of the choice of study.” “I knew that. But my choice is no mean one.” “I think a natural bent should be respected,” reasoned Judith. “I don’t know that I _have_ a natural bent. A great English physician writes that he decided to study medicine when he was a boy because his father’s physician came to the house with a coat trimmed with gold lace. He was after the gold lace.” “What are _you_ after?” “Money, reputation—position—” “I don’t believe it,” she answered, earnestly. “Oh, I would like them thrown in,” he laughed. “In the Boy’s Brigade you didn’t make them first.” “What do you make first?” “Aunt Rody, just now.” “What second, then?” “Talking to you, on the piazza.” “Judith,” catching her hands and holding them fast, “decide for me. Shall I study medicine, or shall I please my father and mother?” “I cannot decide for you,” she said, lightly, withdrawing her hands. “You don’t care.” “I do care.” “Decide then.” “I am not the one to decide.” “You are; if I put the decision in your hands.” “But I am only a girl.” “That is why I ask you. Girls see clear. They do not love money, they are not ambitious.” “I do not love money. I may be ambitious.” “How are you ambitious?” She flushed and would not reply. “About your stories? Do you expect to write?” “I expect to write. I cannot help it; it is _in_ me and will come out. Nothing much, perhaps; only little things, but I love them.” “I do not think medicine is ‘in me’ like that. I simply like a profession better than the routine and drudgery of business.” “That is not a great motive.” “No; and that boy’s gold lace wasn’t; but he made a success.” “Yes,” was all Judith said. “You are displeased with me.” “I am disappointed. I thought you _cared_.” “I do; in a certain way.” “But not in the best way.” “Judith, I am not ‘great’ or ‘best.’” “I thought you were; I want you to be.” “That is a motive,” he said, catching her hands again. “Judith, if you will tell me you love me and will marry me, I will go home and tell my father I will make gold rings and sell them to the end of my days; but you must let me put one on your finger.” “If you made it I’m afraid it wouldn’t fit,” she laughed, again withdrawing her hands. “Will you, if it fits?” “I cannot tell until I try.” “Don’t play with me. It is neither ‘great’ nor ‘best’ for a girl to do that.” “You frighten me,” she said, with a sound in her breath like a sob. “I beg your pardon.” “I cannot promise. I do not want to promise. I never thought of it.” “You think I am only a boy.” “I am only a girl.”