"No," he said. "You're mostly right, and yet they can't all find husbands—and some of them don't want to," he added reflectively.
"Joan will marry," said Mrs. Benson. "She ought to let her hair grow."
He burst out laughing. "Bless you, you old darling," he exclaimed. "It's what's inside the head that decides those things, not what's outside it!"
She took his hand and stroked it. "I'm glad I had you," she said.
He stooped and kissed her cheek. "So am I," he told her. They wandered into the garden, arm in arm.
"It's lovely here," he said. "But it's not for me, Mother; I don't think lovely things were meant for me, so I must make the ugly ones beautiful somehow."
"My dear, you've chosen an ugly profession; and yet the healing of the sick is beautiful."
"I think so," he said simply.
Presently she said: "I want to talk to you about Lawrence."
"Fire away! You don't mean to tell me that Lawrence has been sowing anything like wild oats? Your voice sounds so serious."