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."

CHAPTER X. WOMEN OF THE FUTURE.

From that day the Doctor's peace was gone. Never was a quiet and orderly
household transformed so suddenly into a bear garden, or a happy man
turned into such a completely miserable one. He had never realized
before how entirely his daughters had shielded him from all the friction
of life. Now that they had not only ceased to protect him, but had
themselves become a source of trouble to him, he began to understand how
great the blessing was which he had enjoyed, and to sigh for the happy
days before his girls had come under the influence of his neighbor.

"You don't look happy," Mrs. Westmacott had remarked to him one morning.
"You are pale and a little off color. You should come with me for a ten
mile spin upon the tandem."

"I am troubled about my girls." They were walking up and down in the
garden. From time to time there sounded from the house behind them the
long, sad wail of a French horn.

"That is Ida," said he. "She has