Neville shut her eyes.
"Doctors ... doctors. They have it on the brain,—the limitations of the feminine organism."
"Because they know something about it. But I'm not speaking of the feminine organism just now. I should say the same to Rodney if he thought of turning doctor now, after twenty years of politics."
"Rodney never could have been a doctor. He hates messing about with bodies."
"Well, you know what I think. I can't stop you, of course. It's only a question of time, in any case. You'll soon find out for yourself that it's no use."
"I think," she answered, in her small, unemotional voice, "that it's exceedingly probable that I shall."
She lay inertly in the deep chair, her eyes shut, her hands opened, palms downwards, as if they had failed to hold something.
"What then, Jim? If I can't be a doctor what can I be? Besides Rodney's wife, I mean? I don't say besides the children's mother, because that's stopped being a job. They're charming to me, the darlings, but they don't need me any more; they go their own way."
Jim had noticed that.
"Well, after all, you do a certain amount of political work—public speaking, meetings, and so on. Isn't that enough?"