She was interested now.  He could see her eyes, intent, through the falling shadow of her hair.

“I reminded him that he had offered me the services of a secretary and explained that I was ready to avail myself of his offer.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“Well—­er—­we agreed to leave the decision to you.”

“Was that all?”

“Practically all.”

“Practically, but not quite.  You quarreled, didn’t you?  Frankly, I do not understand father’s attitude but I know what his attitude is.  He does not want you here.  Neither you nor anyone else.  The secretarial work you offer would be—­I can’t tell you exactly what it would be to me.  It would teach me something—­and I am so hungry to know!  But he will find some way to make it impossible.  You will have to go.”

“Nonsense!  He cannot go back on his agreement.”

“You mean he has accepted money?  That,” bitterly, “means nothing to him.”

“Nevertheless it gives me ground to stand on.  And you, too.  You have done secretarial work before?”

“Yes.  I have certain qualifications.  At intervals I have tried to make myself independent.  Several times I have secured office positions in Vancouver.  But father has always made the holding of them impossible.”

“How?”

“I would rather not go into it.”  There was weary disgust in her voice.

“But what reason does he give?”

“That his daughter’s place is in her father’s house—­funny, isn’t it?”

“You do not think that affection has anything to do with it?”

“Not even remotely.  Whatever his reason may be for keeping me with him, it is not that.  Affection is something of which one knows by instinct, don’t you think?  Even Li Ho—­I know instinctively that Li Ho is fond of me.  I am absolutely certain that my father is not.”

“It is no life for a young girl.”

“It has been my life.”

The professor felt uncomfortable.  There was that in her tone which forbade all comment.  She had given him this tiny glimpse and quite evidently intended to give no more.  But Spence, upon occasion, could be a persistent man.

“Miss Desire,” he said gravely, “do you absolutely decline my friendship?” If she wanted directness, she was getting it now.

“How can I do otherwise?” Her face was turned from him and her low voice was muffled by her hair.  But for the first time she had cast away her guard of light indifference.  “Friendship is impossible for me.  I thought you would see—­and go away.  Nothing that you can do would be any real help.  I have tried before to free myself.  But I could not.  Nor, in the little flights of freedom which I had, did I find anything that I wanted.  I am as well here as anywhere.  Unless—­ "

She was silent, looking into the fire.

“Unless I were really free,” she added softly.

He could not see her face.  But she looked very young sitting there with her unbound hair and hands clasped childishly about her knees.