She asked: "What had you intended to do?"

"I was to have got a _locum tenens_. I think it would have developed
into a permanency. A big, rough district up in Yorkshire with a man
who keeps six horses going. His second assistant--a pal of mine--wants
to chuck it."

"Why?"

"Why? Oh, partly because he's fed up with it, partly because he wants
a practice of his own."

"Ah! ... But, George, don't you want a practice of your own? You don't
want to be another man's assistant, do you?"

George laughed. "I can't choose, Margi. You know, if you imagine there
are solid groups of people all over England anxiously praying for the
arrival of a doctor, you must adjust that impression, as your father
would say. These things have to be bought. I've got about three
pounds, so I'm not bidding. They seldom go so cheap."

Margaret never bantered. She had no battledore light enough to return
an airy shuttlecock. Now, as always, when this plaything came
buoyantly towards her she swiped it with heavy force clean out of the
conversational field.

She said gravely: "Ah, I know what you mean. You mean that father
ought to buy you a practice--ought to set you up when you are
qualified. I can't discuss that, can I? It wouldn't be loyal."