"Profession, Clara?"
"Mrs. Westmacott says that every woman should follow a calling, and that we ought to choose those which women have always avoided."
"Quite so."
"Well, I am going to act upon her advice. I am going to be a pilot."
"My dear Clara! A pilot! This is too much."
"This is a beautiful book, papa. `The Lights, Beacons, Buoys, Channels, and Landmarks of Great Britain.' Here is another, `The Master Mariner's Handbook.' You can't imagine how interesting it is."
"You are joking, Clara. You must be joking!"
"Not at all, pa. You can't think what a lot I have learned already. I'm to carry a green light to starboard and a red to port, with a white light at the mast-head, and a flare-up every fifteen minutes."
"Oh, won't it look pretty at night!" cried her sister.
"And I know the fog-signals. One blast means that a ship steers to starboard, two to port, three astern, four that it is unmanageable. But this man asks such dreadful questions at the end of each chapter. Listen to this: `You see a red light. The ship is on the port tack and the wind at north; what course is that ship steering to a point?'"
The Doctor rose with a gesture of despair. "I can't imagine what has come over you both," said he.
"My dear papa, we are trying hard to live up to Mrs. Westmacott's standard."
"Well, I must say that I do not admire the result. Your chemistry, Ida, may perhaps do no harm; but your scheme, Clara, is out of the question. How a girl of your sense could ever entertain such a notion is more than I can imagine. But I must absolutely forbid you to go further with it."
"But, pa," asked Ida, with an air of innocent inquiry in her big blue eyes, "what are we to do when your commands and Mrs. Westmacott's advice are opposed? You told us to obey her. She says that when women try to throw off their shackles, their fathers, brothers and husbands are the very first to try to rivet them on again, and that in such a matter no man has any authority."
"Does Mrs. Westmacott teach you that I am not the head of my own house?" The Doctor flushed, and his grizzled hair bristled in his anger.
"Certainly. She says that all heads of houses are relics of the dark ages."
The Doctor muttered something and stamped his foot upon the carpet. Then without a word he passed out into the garden and his daughters could see him striding furiously up and down, cutting off the heads of the flowers with a switch.
"Oh, you darling! You played your part so splendidly!" cried Ida.
"But how cruel it is! When I saw the sorrow and surprise in his eyes I very nearly put my arms about him and told him all. Don't you think we have done enough?"
"No, no, no. Not nearly enough. You must not turn weak now, Clara. It is so funny that I should be leading you. It is quite a new experience. But I know I am right. If we go on as we are doing, we shall be able to say all our lives that we have saved him. And if we don't, oh, Clara, we should never forgive ourselves."