Chapter 10 - Page 2

you, sir," said she. "That is a nice little side
hit at my poor Eliza."

"I give you my word that I had forgotten about her,"
cried the Doctor, flushing. "One such pet may no doubt
be endured, but two are more than I can bear. Ida has a
monkey which lives on the curtain rod. It is a most
dreadful creature. It will remain absolutely motionless
until it sees that you have forgotten its presence, and
then it will suddenly bound from picture to picture all
round the walls, and end by swinging down on the
bell-rope and jumping on to the top of your head. At
breakfast it stole a poached egg and daubed it all over
the door handle. Ida calls these outrages amusing
tricks."

"Oh, all will come right," said the widow
reassuringly.

"And Clara is as bad, Clara who used to be so
good and sweet, the very image of her poor mother. She
insists upon this preposterous scheme of being a pilot,
and will talk of nothing but revolving lights and hidden
rocks, and codes of signals, and nonsense of the kind."

"But why preposterous?" asked his companion. "What
nobler occupation can there be than that of stimulating
commerce, and aiding the mariner to steer safely into
port? I should think your daughter admirably adapted for
such duties."

"Then I must beg to differ from you, madam."

"Still, you are inconsistent."

"Excuse me, madam, I do not see the matter in the
same light. And I should be obliged to you if you would
use your influence with my daughter to dissuade her."

"You wish to make me inconsistent too."

"Then you refuse?"

"I am afraid that I cannot interfere."

The Doctor was very angry. "Very well, madam," said
he. "In that case I can only say that I have the honor
to wish you a very good morning." He raised his broad
straw hat and strode away up the gravel path, while the
widow looked after him with twinkling eyes. She was
surprised herself to find that she liked the Doctor
better the more masculine and aggressive he became. It
was unreasonable and against all principle, and yet so it
was and no argument could mend the matter.

Very hot and angry, the Doctor retired into his room
and sat down to read his paper. Ida had retired, and the
distant wails of the bugle showed that she was upstairs
in her boudoir. Clara sat opposite to him with her
exasperating charts and her blue book. The Doctor
glanced at her and his eyes remained fixed in
astonishment upon the front of her skirt.

"My dear Clara," he cried, "you have torn your
skirt!"

His daughter laughed and smoothed out her frock. To
his horror he saw the red plush of the chair where the
dress ought to have been. "It is all torn!" he