Mrs. Westmacott's great meeting for theenfranchisement of woman had passed over, and it had beena triumphant success. All the maids and matrons of thesouthern suburbs had rallied at her summons, there was aninfluential platform with Dr. Balthazar Walker in thechair, and Admiral Hay Denver among his more prominentsupporters. One benighted male had come in from theoutside darkness and had jeered from the further end ofthe hall, but he had been called to order by the chair,petrified by indignant glances from the unenfranchisedaround him, and finally escorted to the door by CharlesWestmacott. Fiery resolutions were passed, to beforwarded to a large number of leading statesmen, and themeeting broke up with the conviction that a shrewdblow had been struck for the cause of woman.

But there was one woman at least to whom the meetingand all that was connected with it had brought anythingbut pleasure. Clara Walker watched with a heavy heartthe friendship and close intimacy which had sprung upbetween her father and the widow. From week to week ithad increased until no day ever passed without theirbeing together. The coming meeting had been the excusefor these continual interviews, but now the meeting wasover, and still the Doctor would refer every point whichrose to the judgment of his neighbor. He would talk,too, to his two daughters of her strength of character,her decisive mind, and of the necessity of theircultivating her acquaintance and following her example,until at last it had become his most common topic ofconversation.

All this might have passed as merely the naturalpleasure which an elderly man might take in the societyof an intelligent and handsome woman, but there wereother points which seemed to Clara to give it a deepermeaning. She could not forget that when CharlesWestmacott had spoken to her one night he had alluded tothe possibility of his aunt marrying again. He must haveknown or noticed something before he would speak uponsuch a subject. And then again Mrs. Westmacott hadherself said that she hoped to change her style ofliving shortly and take over completely new duties. Whatcould that mean except that she expected to marry? Andwhom? She seemed to see few friends outside their ownlittle circle. She must have alluded to her father. Itwas a hateful thought, and yet it must be faced.

One evening the Doctor had been rather late at hisneighbor's. He used to go into the Admiral's afterdinner, but now he turned more frequently in the otherdirection. When he returned Clara was sitting alone inthe drawing-room reading a magazine. She sprang up as heentered, pushed forward his chair, and ran to fetch hisslippers.

"You are looking a little pale, dear," he remarked.

"Oh, no, papa, I am very well."

"All well with Harold?"

"Yes. His partner, Mr. Pearson, is still away, andhe is doing all the work."

"Well done. He is sure to succeed. Where is Ida?"

"In her room, I think."

"She was with Charles Westmacott on the lawn not verylong ago. He seems very fond of her. He is not verybright, but I think he will make her a good husband."

"I am sure of it, papa. He is very manly andreliable."

"Yes, I should think that he is not the sort of manwho goes wrong. There is nothing hidden about him. Asto his brightness, it really does not matter, for hisaunt, Mrs. Westmacott, is very rich, much richer than youwould think from her style of living, and she has madehim a handsome provision."

"I am glad of that."

"It is between ourselves. I am her trustee, and soI know something of her arrangements. And when are yougoing to marry, Clara?"

"Oh, papa, not for some time yet. We have notthought of a date.

"Well, really, I don't know that there is any reasonfor delay. He has a competence and it increases yearly. As long as you are quite certain that your mind is madeup----"

"Oh, papa!"

"Well, then, I really do not know why there should beany delay. And Ida, too, must be married within the nextfew months. Now, what I want to know is what I am to dowhen my two little companions run away from me." Hespoke lightly, but his eyes were grave as he lookedquestioningly at his daughter.

"Dear papa, you shall not be alone. It will be yearsbefore Harold and I think of marrying, and when we do youmust come and live with us."

"No, no, dear. I know that you mean what yousay, but I have seen something of the world, and I knowthat such arrangements never answer. There cannot be twomasters in a house, and yet at my age my freedom is verynecessary to me."

"But you would be completely free."

"No, dear, you cannot be that if you are a guest inanother man's house. Can you suggest no otheralternative?"

"That we remain with you."

"No, no. That is out of the question. Mrs.Westmacott herself says that a woman's first duty is tomarry. Marriage, however, should be an equalpartnership, as she points out. I should wish you bothto marry, but still I should like a suggestion from you,Clara, as to what I should do."

"But there is no hurry, papa. Let us wait. I do notintend to marry yet."

Doctor Walker looked disappointed. "Well, Clara, ifyou can suggest nothing, I suppose that I must take theinitiative myself," said he.

"Then what do you propose, papa?" She braced herselfas one who sees the blow which is about to fall.

He looked at her and hesitated. "How like your poordear mother you are, Clara!" he cried. "As I looked atyou then it was as if she had come back from the grave." He stooped towards her and kissed her. "There, runaway to your sister, my dear, and do not trouble yourselfabout me. Nothing is settled yet, but you will find thatall will come right."

Clara went upstairs sad at heart, for she was surenow that what she had feared was indeed about to come topass, and that her father was going to take Mrs.Westmacott to be his wife. In her pure and earnest mindher mother's memory was enshrined as that of a saint, andthe thought that any one should take her place seemed aterrible desecration. Even worse, however, did thismarriage appear when looked at from the point of view ofher father's future. The widow might fascinate him byher knowledge of the world, her dash, her strength, herunconventionality--all these qualities Clara was willingto allow her--but she was convinced that she would beunendurable as a life companion. She had come to an agewhen habits are not lightly to be changed, nor was she awoman who was at all likely to attempt to change them. How would a sensitive man like her father stand theconstant strain of such a wife, a woman who was alldecision, with no softness, and nothing soothing in hernature? It passed as a mere eccentricity when they heardof her stout drinking, her cigarette smoking, heroccasional whiffs at a long clay pipe, her horsewhippingof a drunken servant, and her companionship with thesnake Eliza, whom she was in the habit of bearing aboutin her pocket. All this would become unendurable to herfather when his first infatuation was past. For his ownsake, then, as well as for her mother's memory, thismatch must be prevented. And yet how powerless she wasto prevent it! What could she do? Could Harold aid her? Perhaps. Or Ida? At least she would tell her sister andsee what she could suggest.

Ida was in her boudoir, a tiny little tapestriedroom, as neat and dainty as herself, with low walls hungwith Imari plaques and with pretty little Swiss bracketsbearing blue Kaga ware, or the pure white Coalport china. In a low chair beneath a red shaded standing lamp satIda, in a diaphanous evening dress of mousseline desoie, the ruddy light tinging her sweet childlike face,and glowing on her golden curls. She sprang up as hersister entered, and threw her arms around her.

"Dear old Clara! Come and sit down here beside me. I have not had a chat for days. But, oh, what a troubledface! What is it then?" She put up her forefinger andsmoothed her sister's brow with it.

Clara pulled up a stool, and sitting down beside hersister, passed her arm round her waist. "I am so sorryto trouble you, dear Ida," she said. "But I do not knowwhat to do.

"There's nothing the matter with Harold?"

"Oh, no, Ida."

"Nor with my Charles?"

"No, no."

Ida gave a sigh of relief. "You quite frightened me,dear," said she. "You can't think how solemn you look. What is it, then?"

"I believe that papa intends to ask Mrs. Westmacottto marry him."

Ida burst out laughing. "What can have put such anotion into your head, Clara?"

"It is only too true, Ida. I suspected it before,and he himself almost told me as much with his own lipsto-night. I don't think that it is a laughing matter."

"Really, I could not help it. If you had told methat those two dear old ladies opposite, the MissesWilliams, were both engaged, you would not have surprisedme more. It is really too funny."

"Funny, Ida! Think of any one taking the place ofdear mother.

But her sister was of a more practical and lesssentimental nature. "I am sure," said she, "that dearmother would like papa to do whatever would make him mosthappy. We shall both be away, and why should papa notplease himself?"

"But think how unhappy he will be. You know howquiet he is in his ways, and how even a little thingwill upset him. How could he live with a wife who wouldmake his whole life a series of surprises? Fancy what awhirlwind she must be in a house. A man at his agecannot change his ways. I am sure he would bemiserable."

Ida's face grew graver, and she pondered over thematter for a few minutes. "I really think that you areright as usual," said she at last. "I admire Charlie'saunt very much, you know, and I think that she is a veryuseful and good person, but I don't think she would do asa wife for poor quiet papa."

"But he will certainly ask her, and I really thinkthat she intends to accept him. Then it would be toolate to interfere. We have only a few days at the most. And what can we do? How can we hope to make him changehis mind?"

Again Ida pondered. "He has never tried what it isto live with a strong-minded woman," said she. "If wecould only get him to realize it in time. Oh, Clara, Ihave it; I have it! Such a lovely plan!" She leanedback in her chair and burst into a fit of laughter sonatural and so hearty that Clara had to forget hertroubles and to join in it.

"Oh, it is beautiful!" she gasped at last. "Poorpapa! What a time he will have! But it's all for hisown good, as he used to say when we had to bepunished when we were little. Oh, Clara, I do hope yourheart won't fail you.

"I would do anything to save him, dear."

"That's it. You must steel yourself by thatthought."

"But what is your plan?"

"Oh, I am so proud of it. We will tire him for everof the widow, and of all emancipated women. Let me see,what are Mrs. Westmacott's main ideas? You have listenedto her more than I. Women should attend less tohousehold duties. That is one, is it not?"

"Yes, if they feel they have capabilities for higherthings. Then she thinks that every woman who has leisureshould take up the study of some branch of science, andthat, as far as possible, every woman should qualifyherself for some trade or profession, choosing forpreference those which have been hitherto monopolized bymen. To enter the others would only be to intensify thepresent competition."

" Quite so. That is glorious!" Her blue eyes weredancing with mischief, and she clapped her hands in herdelight. "What else? She thinks that whatever a mancan do a woman should be allowed to do also--does shenot?"

"She says so."

"And about dress? The short skirt, and thedivided skirt are what she believes in?"

"Yes."

"We must get in some cloth."

"Why?"

"We must make ourselves a dress each. A brand-new,enfranchised, emancipated dress, dear. Don't you see myplan? We shall act up to all Mrs. Westmacott's views inevery respect, and improve them when we can. Then papawill know what it is to live with a woman who claims allher rights. Oh, Clara, it will be splendid."

Her milder sister sat speechless before so daring ascheme. "But it would be wrong, Ida!" she cried at last.

"Not a bit. It is to save him."

"I should not dare."

"Oh, yes, you would. Harold will help. Besides,what other plan have you?"

"I have none."

"Then you must take mine."

"Yes. Perhaps you are right. Well, we do it for agood motive.

"You will do it?"

"I do not see any other way."

"You dear good Clara! Now I will show you what youare to do. We must not begin too suddenly. It mightexcite suspicion."

"What would you do, then?"

"To-morrow we must go to Mrs. Westmacott, and sitat her feet and learn all her views."

"What hypocrites we shall feel!"

"We shall be her newest and most enthusiasticconverts. Oh, it will be such fun, Clara! Then we shallmake our plans and send for what we want, and begin ournew life."

"I do hope that we shall not have to keep it up long. It seems so cruel to dear papa.

"Cruel! To save him!"

"I wish I was sure that we were doing right. And yetwhat else can we do? Well, then, Ida, the die is cast,and we will call upon Mrs. Westmacott tomorrow.