"Oh, what does that matter. Nora can't go, with her weak back."
"Yes she can. I have taken a box, and she shall have my air-cushion to lean against."
"And I want to go to a theatre awfully," said Nora.
"Well, well, so much for filial affection. Ask him to come to lunch to-morrow. Write any way—show that you're a daughter, a loving daughter."
"Of course I'm a loving daughter, but I——"
"For goodness sake don't have any more buts. Write or dictate, whichever you please."
"I'll write if I must, but really—I don't suppose father will care to come."
"Doesn't he care for you, then?"
"Care for me? What a thing to say. Of course he cares for me."
"Then he'll come. Now, I give you five minutes. Write the letter, and I'll take it out and post it."