"Think it out, Dorothy," he said in his frankest, kindliest way. "You'll see I'm right."
"No," she said.
"No? What does that mean?"
"I've an instinct against it," replied she. "I'd rather father and I kept on as we are."
"But that's impossible. You've no right to live in this small, cramping way. You must broaden out and give him room to grow. . . . Isn't that sensible?"
"It sounds so," she admitted. "But—" She gazed round helplessly—"I'm afraid!"
"Afraid of what?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't bother about it."
"I'll have to be very—careful," she said thoughtfully.