"But, my dear child, you're not giving up your violin; he only wants you to rest for a time." Milly sobbed more loudly, she was growing hysterical. "I want to go back to the College," she wailed. "I hate, hate, _hate_ being here! I hate Seabourne and all the people in it, and I hate this house! It stifles me, and I'm not ill and I shan't stop practising and I shan't take cod liver oil!" She wrenched herself free from Joan's restraining arm. "Let me go upstairs," she spluttered. "I want to go upstairs!" Joan released her. Alone together, the mother and daughter looked at each other defiantly. "She ought to see a specialist," Joan said; "Doctor Thomas is an old fool!" Mrs. Ogden's soft eyes grew bright with rising temper. "Never!" she exclaimed, raising her voice. "I hate the whole brood; it was a specialist who killed your father. James would be alive now if it hadn't been for a so-called specialist!" Joan made a sound of impatience. "Don't be ridiculous, Mother; you don't know what you're talking about. You're taking a terrible responsibility in refusing to have a first-class opinion." "I consider Doctor Thomas first-class." "He is _not_; he's antediluvian and deaf into the bargain! I tell you, Milly is very ill." Mrs. Ogden's remaining calm deserted her. "You tell me, _you_ tell me! And what do you know about it? It seems that you pretend to know more than the doctor himself. You and your ridiculous medical books! You'll be asking me to consult your fellow-student Elizabeth next." "I wish to God you would!" "Ah! I thought so; well then, send for your clever friend, your unsexed blue-stocking, and put her opinion above that of your own mother. How many children has she borne, I'd like to know? What knowledge can she have that I as a mother haven't got by natural instinct, about my own child? How dare you put Elizabeth Rodney above me!" Joan lost her temper suddenly and violently. "Because she is above you, because she's everything that you're not." Mrs. Ogden gave a stifled cry and sank back in her chair. "Oh! my head, it's swimming, I feel sinking, I feel as if I were dying. Oh! oh! my head!" "Sit up!" commanded Joan. "You're not dying, but I think Milly is." Mrs. Ogden began to cry weakly as Joan turned away. "Cruel, cruel!" she murmured. Joan went up to her and shook her slightly. "Behave yourself, Mother; I've no time for this sort of thing." "To tell me that a child of mine is dying! You say that to frighten me; I shall tell the doctor." Joan shrugged her shoulders. "You may tell him what you please. I'm going up to Milly, now." 3