"Are you not content to be a conventional woman?" he asked, after a moment.
"No!" was her emphatic answer.
"Well, there are many ways of being a little outre in this age and land, especially at this stormy period. Perhaps you want a career,—something that will give you a larger place in the public eye?"
She turned away to hide the tears that would come. "O papa, you don't understand me at all, and I scarcely understand myself," she faltered. "In some respects you are as conventional as mamma, and are almost a Turk in your ideas of the seclusion of women. The idea of my wanting public notoriety! As I feel now, I'd rather go to a convent."
"We'll go to dinner first; then a short drive in the park, for you look pale, and I long for a little fresh air myself. I have been at my desk since seven this morning, and have had only a sandwich."
"Why do you have to work so hard, papa?"
"I can give you two reasons in a breath,—you mentioned 'shopping,' and my country is at war. They don't seem very near of kin, do they? Documents relating to both converge in my desk, however."
"Have I sent you more bills than usual?"
"Not more than usual."
"I believe I'm a fool."