Mr. Donald was returning to his office to prepare a case to be argued in court next morning and felt no inclination to exhaust himself in debate with a young woman who would probably fling one defiance after another at his head under the impression that she was modern. He answered suavely:
“Very creditable of you to think for yourself. And it certainly would be unbecoming for one of the Carteret ladies to work for her living.”
“That isn’t worrying me, either. My objections to looking for a job and holding it down are purely personal.”
“You are very modern.” Mr. Donald sighed.
“Oh, that’s rather old-fashioned.”
“I mean in your complete indifference to tradition. But that seems to be one of the many phases of the present unrest. The war no doubt. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Of course you will continue to take care of the estate? I am hopelessly ignorant.”
“With the greatest pleasure!” Another apprehension was laid. In money matters at least this young rebel did not purpose to take the bit between her teeth. “And remember, if you need advice of any kind my services are at your immediate disposal.”
“I’d like to sell the house in Atlantic City at once and renovate this. I’ll keep the best of the furniture, of course, but the rest will go to the stables. My grandmother’s room I shall keep intact—as a memorial to the Carterets!”
“Well, I can’t blame you. But the lease of the house on States Avenue has a year to run. After the inheritance tax has been disposed of I’ll see what can be done.”