"I think so too," said Louise. "It is only for papa's and mamma's sake I regret it now. No, he was not low-spirited. He has made up his mind to it, I think. And,"--she hesitated--"he even laughs a little at Winifred sometimes." Celia's colour rose. "That is very presumptuous of him," she said, but she checked herself. "Of course he can't understand her, so perhaps it is a good thing if he takes that line. She has quite decided, Louise. It is all settled. She is going to London in January, for good." Louise drew a deep breath. "I cannot believe it," she said. "Leaving all she might do here, when every day I see more and more how valuable her strong brain and clear judgment would be. For papa, though not worse, is not _better_, Celia. He is so quickly exhausted. I do my best, but I am _not_ the clever one of the family. I can't understand it. Going out to seek for work when it is at her very feet, crying to be done." "It is not work Winifred wants; it is a career," said Celia, laconically. "But she has no special gift--no--no `vocation' to anything in particular," said Louise. "She thinks it is her vocation to show that women should be as free as men," said Celia. "She is full of organised benevolent work just now, and she wants to prove that women can do it as well as--no, far better than men. But I have tacitly promised her to let her tell all particulars herself, so I had better not say any more." "Only one thing--this Miss--Miss something Norreys, that Winifred has mentioned so enthusiastically in her letters--has she influenced her?" asked Louise. "She is the best friend Winifred could have," Celia replied. "She is both beautiful and talented and good. Yes, and wise too. But--I have not seen her much. I doubt if she really understands the position." There was a little silence. Then Louise spoke again. "Celia," she said, with a touch of hesitation, "_you_ have changed a little--or a great deal? You don't look at things so entirely from Winifred's point of view, do you?" "No," said Celia, frankly, "I don't. I have changed. I hope, perhaps, I have grown wiser, that I have learned to see things outside ourselves more than I did. Winifred would tell you it was all the other way," she added, with a smile. "_She_ thinks I have grown narrow and conventional." "But you haven't changed about yourself--about your wish to see what talent you have--to test yourself, as you say?" asked Louise, eagerly. "I should not like that." "No, I feel just the same. I feel that I _must_ try--that is to say, unless some very clear overmastering question of duty interferes. I know I have some talent, and, even if it is nothing remarkable, I think I should cultivate it, and if,"--here the girl's voice trembled a little--"if it _were_ to be remarkable--well, all the more reason for developing it." "Yes. You are right. I know you are," said Louise. "I am so glad. But then it is about Winifred you have changed?"