smarting of a sober pain, was giving a sweetness to her eyes that
had been lost in the ambitious glitter of other days. Ethel bored
him--a most unusual condition. He longed to be under the tender,
quieting influences at the opposite end of the car. He even resented
his temporary exile.

"Jane," Cable was saying with gentle insistence; "it is not just
to him. He loves you and you are not doing the right thing by him."

"You'll find I am right in the end," she said stubbornly.

"I can't bear the thought of your going out as a trained nurse,
dear," protested Frances Cable. "There is no necessity. You can
have the best of homes and in any place you like. Why waste your
life in--"

"Waste, mother? It would be wasting my life if I did not find an
occupation for it. I can't be idle. I can't exist forever in your
love and devotion."

"Good Lord, child, don't be foolish," exclaimed Cable. "That hurts
me more than you think. Everything we have is yours."

"I'm sorry I said it, daddy. I did not mean it in that way. It
isn't the money, you know, and it isn't the home, either. No, you
must let me choose my own way of living the rest of my life. I came
from a foundling hospital. A good and tender nurse found me there
and gave me the happiest years of my life. I shall go back there
and give the rest of my years to children who are less fortunate
than I was. I want to help them, mother, just as you did--only it