“The same law for all, my friend.”  She tapped him reprovingly on the arm with her sunshade.  “When you were twenty your father did not, I presume, object to your learning chemistry or playing a musical instrument.  You would have thought it tyranny if he had.”

“But there is such a sudden change in them both.”

“Yes, I have noticed that they have been very enthusiastic lately in the cause of liberty.  Of all my disciples I think that they promise to be the most devoted and consistent, which is the more natural since their father is one of our most trusted champions.”

The Doctor gave a twitch of impatience.  “I seem to have lost all authority,” he cried.

“No, no, my dear friend.  They are a little exuberant at having broken the trammels of custom.  That is all.”

“You cannot think what I have had to put up with, madam.  It has been a dreadful experience.  Last night, after I had extinguished the candle in my bedroom, I placed my foot upon something smooth and hard, which scuttled from under me.  Imagine my horror!  I lit the gas, and came upon a well-grown tortoise which Clara has thought fit to introduce into the house.  I call it a filthy custom to have such pets.”

Mrs. Westmacott dropped him a little courtesy.  “Thank 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.”