"I don't know; there is no pleasure in using things which that fool of a Trust Company votes to let you have. Anyway, what I want is liberty and money." "What would you do with what you call liberty, dear?" "Do? I'd--I'd--well, I'd go shooting if I wanted to. I'd buy a gun and go off somewhere after ducks." "But your father's old club on the Chesapeake is open to you. Shall I ask Mr. Tappan?" "Oh, yes: I know," he sneered, "and Mr. Tappan would send some chump of a tutor there to teach me. I don't want to be taught how to hit ducks. I want to find out for myself. I don't care for that sort of thing," he repeated savagely; "I just ache to go off somewhere with a boy of my own age where there's no club and no preserve and no tutor; and where I can knock about and get whatever there is to get without anybody's help." Geraldine said: "You have more liberty now than I have, Scott. What are you howling for?" "The only real liberty I have I take! Anyway, you have enough for a girl of your age. And you'd better shut up." "I won't shut up," she retorted irritably. "I want liberty as much as you do. If I had any, I'd go to every play and opera in New York. And I'd go about with my friends and I'd have gowns fitted, and I'd have tea at Sherry's, and I'd shop and go to matinees and to the Exchange, and I'd be elected a member of the Commonwealth Club and play basket-ball there, and swim, and lunch and--and then have another fitting----" "Is that what you'd do with your liberty?" he sneered. "Well, I don't wonder old Tappan doesn't give you any money." "I do need money and decent gowns. I'm sick of the frumpy prunes-and-prisms frocks that Kathleen makes me wear----" Kathleen's troubled laugh interrupted her: "Dearest, I do the best I can on the allowance made you by Mr. Tappan. His ideas on modern feminine apparel are perhaps not yours or mine." "I should say not!" returned Geraldine angrily. "There isn't a girl of my age who dresses as horridly as I do. I tell you, Mr. Tappan has got to let me have money enough to dress decently. If he doesn't, I--I'll begin to give him as much trouble as Scott does--more, too!" She set her teeth and stared at her glass of water. "What about my coming-out gown?" she asked. "I have written him about your debut," said Kathleen soothingly. "Oh! What did the old beast say?" "He writes," began Kathleen pleasantly, "that he considers eighteen an unsuitable age for a young girl to make her bow to New York society."