All this might have passed as merely the natural pleasure which an elderly man might take in the society of an intelligent and handsome woman, but there were other points which seemed to Clara to give it a deeper meaning.  She could not forget that when Charles Westmacott had spoken to her one night he had alluded to the possibility of his aunt marrying again.  He must have known or noticed something before he would speak upon such a subject.  And then again Mrs. Westmacott had herself said that she hoped to change her style of living shortly and take over completely new duties.  What could that mean except that she expected to marry?  And whom?  She seemed to see few friends outside their own little circle.  She must have alluded to her father.  It was a hateful thought, and yet it must be faced.

One evening the Doctor had been rather late at his neighbor’s.  He used to go into the Admiral’s after dinner, but now he turned more frequently in the other direction.  When he returned Clara was sitting alone in the drawing-room reading a magazine.  She sprang up as he entered, pushed forward his chair, and ran to fetch his slippers.

“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, and he 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 very long ago.  He seems very fond of her.  He is not very bright, but I think he will make her a good husband.”

“I am sure of it, papa.  He is very manly and reliable.”

“Yes, I should think that he is not the sort of man who goes wrong.  There is nothing hidden about him.  As to his brightness, it really does not matter, for his aunt, Mrs. Westmacott, is very rich, much richer than you would think from her style of living, and she has made him a handsome provision.”

“I am glad of that.”

“It is between ourselves.  I am her trustee, and so I know something of her arrangements.  And when are you going to marry, Clara?”

“Oh, papa, not for some time yet.  We have not thought of a date.”

“Well, really, I don’t know that there is any reason for delay.  He has a competence and it increases yearly.  As long as you are quite certain that your mind is made up——­”

“Oh, papa!”

“Well, then, I really do not know why there should be any delay.  And Ida, too, must be married within the next few months.  Now, what I want to know is what I am to do when my two little companions run away from me.”  He spoke lightly, but his eyes were grave as he looked questioningly at his daughter.

“Dear papa, you shall not be alone.  It will be years before Harold and I think of marrying, and when we do you must come and live with us.”