James whisked the tail of this inverted logic in Anne's face and waited triumphantly. But Anne did not see the narrow, tired face, the small work-weakened eyes of her father. She saw Roger, hunching toward John Lowell.
"But men do give up their jobs for their beliefs; not unskilled laborers, but professional men who have spent years getting their preparation."
"Bunk! You talk like a romantic school girl. Show me one professional man, likely to succeed in his line, and show me him quitting."
"I will," Anne spoke with difficulty, "to-night. Roger Barton is coming up this evening."
"Now, I am glad of that," Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. "I wish you would have more company, Anne. It's not my fault the place is not filled with young folks."
"Who's he?" James demanded.
"The man I'm engaged to." It was scarcely more than a whisper.
At last Anne looked up, from one to the other. Her mother sat, the look of pleasure at the prospect of young company frozen in her eyes. Her father peered forward, still amused at her childishness, triumphant at his own logic.
"What say?" He too whispered. "You're engaged!"
Anne rose. Sitting, she felt the coming struggle closing down upon her.