"But, Quin, I want it to be now," Eleanor begged. "Grandmother and I have gone over it from every standpoint, and she's come to see it as I do. You need me, and I need you. Why can't you be sensible and see it as we do?"
How Quin ever withstood those pleading tones and beseeching eyes, it is impossible to say. But withstand them he did, announcing stubbornly that it was bad enough for a girl to marry a chap with broken bellows; but for her to marry one she would not only have to nurse, but support as well, was not to be thought of. There was but one thing to do, and that was to wait.
Then it was that Madam, who had been reasonably patient up till now, lost her temper and delivered an ultimatum.
"You'll marry her now or not at all," she thundered. "I am sick and tired of the way you try to run this family, Quinby Graham! For more than a year now you have carried things with a high hand. You got Ranny out of the factory and on a farm. You married Enid to Francis Chester, and sent them to California. You made me let Eleanor go to New York, and came very near landing her on the stage for good. And now, when I have been persuaded into letting the child marry you, you are not satisfied, but insist on doing it at your own time and in your own way!"
"You forgot one thing, granny," suggested Eleanor demurely. "He made you have the operation."
Madam was not to be diverted. She glared at Quin like an angry old lioness.
"Are you going to do as I advise?" she demanded.
"No; not until I get a job." Quin's jaw was set as firmly as hers, and their eyes measured each other's with equal determination.
"Well, then I'll give you a job," she announced with sudden decision. "I'll send you to China."
"To China?"