"It's no laughing matter," he said in an impressive voice. "It's no laughing matter to be bottled; they want to bottle me, only I don't mean to let them." "Why, what do you want to do that makes them want to bottle you?" "I'm going in for medicine--Father hates it; he hopes I'll get sick of it, but it's my line, I know it; I'm studying to be a doctor." "Well, why not? It's rather jolly to be a doctor, I should think; someone's got to look after people when they're ill." "That's just it. I'm keen as mustard on it, and I shan't let anyone stop me." "But what's that got to do with me?" "Nothing, not the doctor part, but the other part has; if you're clever, you ought to do something." "But I'm not a boy!" "That doesn't matter a straw. Look at Elizabeth; she's not a boy, but she didn't let her brain get fuggy; though," he added reflectively, "I'm not so sure of her now as I was before she came here." "Why not?" said Joan; she liked talking about Elizabeth. "Oh, just Seabourne, it's a bottling place. If Elizabeth don't look out she'll be bottled next!" At that moment Elizabeth came in. "We were talking about you," said Joan, but Elizabeth was dreadfully incurious. "Your mother is waiting; it's time to go," was all she said. 3 In the fly on the way home the silence was oppressive. Mrs. Ogden seemed to be suffering, she looked wilted. "What is it, darling?" Joan inquired. She had enjoyed herself, and now somehow it was spoilt. She had hoped that her mother was enjoying herself too. Mrs. Ogden leant towards her and took her hand. "My dear little girl," she murmured, "have you been happy, Joan?" "Yes, very; haven't you, Mother?" There was a pause. "I'm not as young as you are, dearest." Elizabeth, sitting beside Mrs. Ogden, smiled bitterly in the dark. "Wait a while," she said to herself. "Wait a while!" Her own emotions surprised her, she was conscious of a feeling of acute anger. As if by a simultaneous impulse the two women suddenly drew as far apart as the narrow confines of the cab permitted. To Elizabeth it seemed as if something so intense as to be almost tangible leapt out between them--a naked sword. Sitting with her back to the driver, Joan was lost in thought; she was thinking of the utter hopelessness of making her mother really happy. But with another part of her mind she was pondering Richard's sudden outburst in the library. She liked him, she thought what a satisfactory brother he would be. Why was he so afraid of being caught and bottled? Lawrence, she felt, must be bottled already; he liked it, she was sure that Lawrence would think it the right thing to be. She wondered how Richard would manage to escape--if he did escape. A picture of him rose before her eyes; he made her laugh, he was so emphatic. She resolved to talk him over with Elizabeth. Of course it was all nonsense--still, he seemed dreadfully afraid. What was it really that he was afraid of, and why was he so afraid for her?