When the Doctor came down to the dining-room next morning, he was surprised to find that his daughters had already been up some time.  Ida was installed at one end of the table with a spirit-lamp, a curved glass flask, and several bottles in front of her.  The contents of the flask were boiling furiously, while a villainous smell filled the room.  Clara lounged in an arm-chair with her feet upon a second one, a blue-covered book in her hand, and a huge map of the British Islands spread across her lap.  “Hullo!” cried the Doctor, blinking and sniffing, “where’s the breakfast?”

“Oh, didn’t you order it?” asked Ida.

“I!  No; why should I?” He rang the bell.  “Why have you not laid the breakfast, Jane?”

“If you please, sir, Miss Ida was a workin’ at the table.”

“Oh, of course, Jane,” said the young lady calmly.  “I am so sorry.  I shall be ready to move in a few minutes.”

“But what on earth are you doing, Ida?” asked the Doctor.  “The smell is most offensive.  And, good gracious, look at the mess which you have made upon the cloth!  Why, you have burned a hole right through.”

“Oh, that is the acid,” Ida answered contentedly.  “Mrs. Westmacott said that it would burn holes.”

“You might have taken her word for it without trying,” said her father dryly.

“But look here, pa!  See what the book says:  `The scientific mind takes nothing upon trust.  Prove all things!’ I have proved that.”

“You certainly have.  Well, until breakfast is ready I’ll glance over the Times.  Have you seen it?”

“The Times?  Oh, dear me, this is it which I have under my spirit-lamp.  I am afraid there is some acid upon that too, and it is rather damp and torn.  Here it is.”

The Doctor took the bedraggled paper with a rueful face.  “Everything seems to be wrong to-day,” he remarked.  “What is this sudden enthusiasm about chemistry, Ida?”

“Oh, I am trying to live up to Mrs. Westmacott’s teaching.”

“Quite right! quite right!” said he, though perhaps with less heartiness than he had shown the day before.  “Ah, here is breakfast at last!”

But nothing was comfortable that morning.  There were eggs without egg-spoons, toast which was leathery from being kept, dried-up rashers, and grounds in the coffee.  Above all, there was that dreadful smell which pervaded everything and gave a horrible twang to every mouthful.

“I don’t wish to put a damper upon your studies, Ida,” said the Doctor, as he pushed back his chair.  “But I do think it would be better if you did your chemical experiments a little later in the day.”

“But Mrs. Westmacott says that women should rise early, and do their work before breakfast.”

“Then they should choose some other room besides the breakfast-room.”  The Doctor was becoming just a little ruffled.  A turn in the open air would soothe him, he thought.  “Where are my boots?” he asked.