"Not--not female doctor," I protested. "That _does_ sound----" "Well, you see for yourself how the very sound of it----" I assured her that I didn't dislike the sound of "medical woman." But there was no necessity to emphasise "woman" at all; the only thing important was whether the person was qualified to treat the sick. People did not feel they had to say male doctor. "Doctor is enough." I was told that the reason no one said male doctor was because "doctor" _was_ male, and everyone understood that. I left the point, and I pleaded my main cause with all my might. I hadn't any accomplishments--no music, nothing. "I'm not the decorative one, and I like 'doing things'; plain, everyday things." There had to be people like that. It was all no use. * * * * * That confession of mine, more than hers about the jewels, goaded my mother into taking a step which even we, blind as we were, felt to be epoch-making in our history. That same evening she began to talk about Aunt Josephine--to excuse her. Mrs. Harborough had been so wrapped up in her brilliant young step-brother (and Aunt Josephine would never allow the "step") that _any_ other person's coming in must inevitably have been resented. "She idolised your father." A woman of high character. Given to good works. Busied about the redemption of long-shoremen and about country treats for jam-factory girls. Knee-deep in philanthropy. And childless. She _could_ not, especially now after that old first anger had long cooled, she could not be indifferent to the fate of her brother's children. "Are you thinking of writing to her?" I said. She explained that for her to address Mrs. Harborough was, under the circumstances, hardly possible. But there was no reason in the world why I should not. I felt there were reasons, but I could not think what they were. My mother, meanwhile, grew almost cheerful, outlining the sort of thing I might say. No requests in this first communication. A letter, merely--if it found her so inclined--merely to open a long-closed door. I did not like my task. I decided I would put it off till morning, though I knew that at any time I should find it easier to write: "Please lend me L1,000 for a course of study," than write such a letter as my mother had dictated. * * * * * Betty came back from her dinner-party in great excitement. Ranny Dallas had motored over from Dartmoor that very day--with a man friend. They had been at the Helmstones' to tea. I wondered, dully, that Lady Helmstone had said nothing whatever about Ranny during her visit. She must have just parted from him. Another curious thing was that Ranny had not stayed for the dinner-party. He and his friend were at the inn. "What in the world do you think that means?" I asked Bettina, glad enough to escape from my own thoughts. She was smiling. "I think it is very natural."