"That men can live on star-dust?" her father asked gently. "Well, so be it. We won't quarrel with her, will we, Hilda?"
The oysters were very good. Jean ate several with healthy appetite. Her father, twinkling, teased her, "You see—?"
She shrugged, "All the same, I didn't need them."
Hilda, putting things back on the tray, remarked: "There was a message from Mrs. Witherspoon. Her son is on leave for the week end. She wants you for dinner on Saturday night—both of you."
Doctor McKenzie tapped a finger on the table thoughtfully, "Oh, does she? Do you want to go, Jeanie?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"I am not sure. I should like to build a fence about you, my dear, and never let a man look over. Ralph Witherspoon wants to marry her, Hilda, what do you think of that?"
"Well, why not?" Hilda laid her long hands flat on the table, leaning on them.
Jean felt little prickles of irritability. "Because I don't want to get married, Hilda."
Hilda gave her a sidelong glance, "Of course you do. But you don't know it."