He
looked up in surprise. I wondered at his slowness.
'Yes, the estates,' he went on, 'and tenants, I suppose--your
mother-in-law, your little Marjorie's future, your own future.'
'The estates are in capable hands, I should suppose,' she urged, 'and my
future depends upon what I choose my work to be.'
'But one cannot shift one's responsibilities,' he replied gravely.
'These estates, these tenants, have come to you, and with them come
duties.'
'I do not want them,' she cried.
'That life has great possibilities of good,' he said kindly.
'I had thought that perhaps there was work for me here,' she suggested
timidly.
'Great work,' he hastened to say. 'You have done great work. But you
will do that wherever you go. The only question is where your work
lies.'
'You think I should go,' she said suddenly and a little bitterly.
'I cannot bid you stay,' he answered steadily.
'How can I go?' she cried, appealing to him. 'Must I go?'
How he could resist that appeal I could not understand. His face was
cold and hard, and his voice was almost harsh as he replied--
'If it is right, you will go--you must go.
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