“And what are we going to do with ourselves,” asked Joan, “when the war is over?”
“They can’t keep us in khaki for ever,” Peter considered. “There’s a Ministry of Reconstruction foozling away in London, but it’s never said a word to me of the some-day that is coming. I suppose it hasn’t learnt to talk yet.”
“What do you think of doing?” asked Joan.
“Well, first—a good medical degree. Then I can doctor if I have to. But, if I’m good enough, I shall do research. I’ve a sort of feeling that along the border line of biology and chemistry I might do something useful. I’ve some ideas.... I suppose I shall go back to Cambridge for a bit. We neither of us need earn money at once. It will be queer—after being a grown-up married man—to go back to proctors and bulldogs. What are you going to do, Joan, when you get out of uniform?”
“Look after you first, Petah. Oh! it’s worth doing. And it won’t take me all my time. And then I’ve got my own ideas....”
“Out with ’em, Joan.”
“Well——”
“Well?”
“Petah, I shall learn plumbing.”
“Jobbing?”