Then she begins to have visions of what is forbidden to all mortals: knowledge of the future. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. \"Don't they want you to go to Stanford?\" \"They think it is too much money. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. She turned there and beckoned.
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