He felt they wanted to be alone, so presently he left them.  From his study he could hear their voices growing steadily more intense.  Was it all about work?  He could not tell.  “They’ve got working and living so mixed up, a man can’t possibly tell ’em apart.”

Then his daughter was called to the telephone, and Allan came in to bid Roger good-night.  And his eyes showed an impatience he did not seem to care to hide.

“Well?” inquired Roger.  “Did you get Deborah’s consent?”

“To what?” asked Allan sharply.

“To your acceptance,” Roger answered, “of the widow’s mite.”  Baird grinned.

“She couldn’t help herself,” he said.

“But she didn’t seem to like it, eh—­”

“No,” said Baird, “she didn’t.”  Roger had a dark suspicion.

“By the way,” he asked in a casual tone, “what’s this philanthropic widow like?”

“She’s sixty-nine,” Baird answered.

“Oh,” said Roger.  He smoked for a time, and sagely added, “My daughter’s a queer woman, Baird—­she’s modern, very modern.  But she’s still a woman, you understand—­and so she’s jealous—­of her job.”  But A. Baird was in no joking mood.

“She’s narrow,” he said sternly.  “That’s what’s the matter with Deborah.  She’s so centered on her job she can’t see anyone else’s.  She thinks I’m doing all this work solely in order to help her school—­when if she’d use some imagination and try to put herself in my shoes, she’d see the chance it’s giving me!”

“How do you mean?” asked Roger, looking a bit bewildered.

“Why,” said Baird with an impatient fling of his hand, “there are men in my line all over the country who’d leave home, wives and children for the chance I’ve blundered onto here!  A hospital fully equipped for research, a free hand, an opportunity which comes to one man in a million!  But can she see it?  Not at all!  It’s only an annex to her school!”

“Yes,” said Roger gravely, “she’s in a pretty unnatural state.  I think she ought to get married, Baird—­” To his friendly and disarming twinkle Baird replied with a rueful smile.

“You do, eh,” he growled.  “Then tell her to plan her wedding to come before her funeral.”  As he rose to go, Roger took his hand.

“I’ll tell her,” he said.  “It’s sound advice.  Good-night, my boy, I wish you luck.”

A few moments later he heard in the hall their brief good-nights to each other, and presently Deborah came in.  She was not looking quite herself.

“Why are you eyeing me like that?” his daughter asked abruptly.

“Aren’t you letting him do a good deal for you?”

Deborah flushed a little: 

“Yes, I am.  I can’t make him stop.”

Her father hesitated.

“You could,” he said, “if you wanted to.  If you were sure,” he added slowly, “that you didn’t love him—­and told him so.”  He felt a little panic, for he thought he had gone too far.  But his daughter only turned away and restlessly moved about the room.  At last she came to her father’s chair: