“In the Boy’s Brigade you didn’t make them first.”
“What do you make first?”
“Aunt Rody, just now.”
“What second, then?”
“Talking to you, on the piazza.”
“Judith,” catching her hands and holding them fast, “decide for me. Shall I study medicine, or shall I please my father and mother?”
“I cannot decide for you,” she said, lightly, withdrawing her hands.
“You don’t care.”
“I do care.”
“Decide then.”