“I can’t quite get the thing I want.”
“How many people are doing what they want to?”
“Not many.”
“One in a hundred. I wanted to be a farmer, and I’m stuck on a stool. We grumble and grouse, but we have to put on the harness. Life’s like that!”
She was looking thin and ill, and he had noticed it.
“Wait a bit. Seems to me I shall have to play the inquiring father. You’re not playing the milk and bun game, are you?”
“Sometimes.”
He looked indignant, yet sympathetic.
“That’s just what you women do, mess up your digestions with jam and tea and cake. A doctor told me once that he had seen dozens of girls on the edge of scurvy. You must feed properly.”
“I get all I want.”