"You'd leave your country home for this?"
Rose turned upon her and towered above her. Her eyes flashed and her abundant eye-brows drew down in a dark scowl.
"Would you be content to spend your life, day and night, summer and winter, in Dutcher's Coolly?"
"Pardon me," said Dr. Herrick cuttingly, "the problem is not the same. I have not the same——I——the question——"
"Yes, you who are born in the city and who come up to see us on the farms for a couple of weeks in June—you take it on yourselves to advise us to stay there! You who succeed are always ready to discourage us when we come to try our fortunes. I can succeed just as well as you, and I'll make you bow your head to me before five years are gone."
Rose was magnificent, masterful. She was flaming hot with wrath. This little woman had gone too far.
Dr. Herrick turned abruptly.
"I guess I've made a mistake; sit down again," she said, in softer tones.
Rose was not yet done. She kept her lofty pose.
"Yes, you certainly have. I am not afraid of this city; I can take care of myself. I wouldn't be under obligations to you now for the world. I want you to know I'm not a beggar asking a dollar from you; I'm not a school-girl, either. I know what I can do and you don't. I wouldn't have troubled you, only for Dr. Thatcher." She moved toward the door, gloriously angry, too angry to say good-day.