“Thank you. That’s a question for my cousins in the city. I want you to answer me as no one else can do. I want to know what is my duty now that I have my means in my own hands?”
“There is need enough around—”
“I do not mean only giving a little here and there, but I want you to hear a few of my thoughts. Flora and George are kindness itself—but, you see, I have no duties. They are obliged to live a gay sort of life—it is their position; but I cannot make out whether it is mine. I don’t see that I am like those girls who have to go out as a matter of obedience.”
Dr. May considered, but could only say, “You are very young.”
“Too young to be independent,” sighed Meta. “I must grow old enough to be trusted alone, and in the meantime—”
“Probably an answer will be found,” said the doctor. “You and your means will find their—their vocation.”
“Marriage,” said Meta, calmly speaking the word that he had avoided. “I think not.”
“Why—” he began.
“I do not think good men like heiresses.”
He became strongly interested in a corn-field, and she resumed,