“Yes, of course I do,” Joan answered rather hurriedly. “What an odd question. I love mother and Nessie, and I am trying to care for my other mother as I ought; she is so good and self-denying. And my uncle Jervis is really nice, too. Of course, I don’t love anybody else in the world as I love father.”
“And I suppose you never will,” said Leo.
“Never,” Joan answered decidedly. “Oh no, never! If I didn’t know that before his illness, I know it now.”
“But, Joan, after all, that is all nonsense,” Leo asserted. “Girls often say such things, and it means nothing.”
“It means a great deal with me,” said Joan. “I will never leave father, Leo, for anybody. After all that I owe to him, how could I? Even if I could wish it, I could not do it. And I never shall have such a wish—never. I love him much too dearly.”
“That is mere infatuation,” Leo declared. “Daughters leave their own fathers to be married;—every day it happens.”
“Yes, their own fathers! But this is different,” replied Joan. “If father were my own father, things would have come to me as a right which are only a gift. That would make all the difference. Nessie will marry some day, and then father and mother will need me all the more to take care of them.”
Leo did not seem convinced. He began to say something in a low, agitated voice, and Joan only caught two or three words. She would not hear more.
“No, Leo, no! Please stop,” she cried. “Oh, don’t go on! Don’t say it, and make everything uncomfortable. That can never be—never. I can never leave father. My work in life must be to look after father. He will never be strong, as he used to be, and he does depend on me so. And though I like you very much—very much indeed—it isn’t that. It couldn’t be. Father is always first with me, and he always will be. And even if I could feel just exactly as you wish, still the thing could not possibly be. You know how you feel about my relations at the farm.”
“But out in India, Joan!” entreated Leo.