“Yes, yes of course,” Laurel nodded. “Yes, that would seem wisest.” For a long quarter minute she was silent, staring straight in front of her, then unlocking her fingers from Helen’s, withdrawing her arm linked through her father’s, “No,” she said quietly, “it wouldn’t do.”

“You may visit your mother in Boston, Laurel.”

Again for a moment Laurel was silent. “No, it wouldn’t do,” she repeated. The little girl in her had disappeared. The spontaneity, the soft tender impulsiveness had faded, gone. “I’d like to be a member of your family, Father,” she said, turning toward Stephen, “of yours, too, Mrs. Morrison,” turning toward Helen. “Thank you ever and ever so much, but I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

“But Lollie, my dear child—”

“But Laurel, listen—”

For twenty minutes, for half an hour, both Stephen and Helen labored with Laurel; but to no purpose, to no avail. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t,” was her unvaried reply.

Finally Stephen exclaimed, “But, Laurel, my dear child, this isn’t a matter we are consulting you on. It is a matter that has already been arranged. We are simply telling you about it.”

“That makes no difference. I’m sorry. I couldn’t,” she persisted.

“Why, of course you can, my dear. You don’t understand. You are not of age to make your own decisions yet, Laurel.”

“Oh, yes I am, Father.”

“But you’re not. Not on a matter of this sort. Your mother and I have decided this for you.”

“Does Mother know of it?”

“Certainly, and approves. She is sending your trunks tomorrow.”

Two little bright spots appeared in the center of Laurel’s cheeks.

“The trunks will have to be sent back then,” she announced. “How silly to have tried to force me like that!”

“We didn’t think it would be forcing. We believed it would be a plan that would make you very happy. It was your mother’s idea, to say nothing about it beforehand, to avoid, I believe, good-byes.”

Laurel replied calmly, “I came down here for four days and I am going home in four days, Father.”

“This is home now,” he told her.

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” she flashed back, “and it never will be home either, as long as my mother is alive.” Laurel stood up. “Of course you can lock me up if you want to,” she went on, “but I shan’t stay any other way. Please understand that.”

The bright spots on her cheeks had not disappeared. There were unfamiliar lines and shadows, too, about her chin and jaw. Helen and Stephen stared at her. They had never felt the steel in Laurel before.

“But, Laurel—”

“Oh, don’t let’s argue about it, Father. It won’t do the least bit of good.”

“Why, this is absurd, impossible. I cannot allow—”