"It's your New England conscience, Eleanor; one of the most specious varieties of consciences in the world. It will always be tempting you to do good that better may come. Don't listen to it, daughter." "I'm in earnest, Uncle David. I don't know whether I would be better fitted to earn my living if I went to business college or real college. What do you think?" "I can't think,--I'm stupefied." "Uncle Peter couldn't think, either." "Have you mentioned this brilliant idea to Peter?" "Yes." "What did he say?" "He talked it over with me, but I think he thinks I'll change my mind." "I think you'll change your mind. Good heavens! Eleanor, we're all able to afford you--the little we spend on you is nothing divided among six of us. It's our pleasure and privilege. When did you come to this extraordinary decision?" "A long time ago. The day that Mrs. Bolling talked to me, I think. There are things she said that I've never forgotten. I told Uncle Peter to think about it and then help me to decide which to do, and I want you to think, Uncle David, and tell me truly what you believe the best preparation for a business life would be. I thought perhaps I might be a stenographer in an editorial office, and my training there would be more use to me than four years at college, but I don't know." "You're an extraordinary young woman," David said, staring at her. "I'm glad you broached this subject, if only that I might realize how extraordinary, but I don't think anything will come of it, my dear. I don't want you to go to college unless you really want to, but if you do want to, I hope you will take up the pursuit of learning as a pursuit and not as a means to an end. Do you hear me, daughter?" "Yes, Uncle David." "Then let's have no more of this nonsense of earning your own living." "Are you really displeased, Uncle David?" "I should be if I thought you were serious,--but it's bedtime. If you're going to get your beauty sleep, my dear, you ought to begin on it immediately." Eleanor rose obediently, her brow clouded a little, and her head held high. David watched the color coming and going in the sweet face and the tender breast rising and falling with her quickening breath. "I thought perhaps you would understand," she said. "Good night." She had always kissed him "good night" until this visit, and he had refrained from commenting on the omission before, but now he put out his hand to her. "Haven't you forgotten something?" he asked. "There is only one way for a daughter to say good night to her parent." She put up her face, and as she did so he caught the glint of tears in her eyes. "Why, Eleanor, dear," he said, "did you care?" And he kissed her. Then his lips sought hers again. With his arms still about her shoulder he stood looking down at her. A hot tide of crimson made its way slowly to her brow and then receded, accentuating the clear pallor of her face.