Mrs. Westmacott's great meeting for the of woman had passed over, and it had been a success. All the maids and matrons of the southern suburbs had rallied at her summons, there was an platform with Dr. Balthazar Walker in the chair, and Admiral Hay Denver among his more prominent supporters. One male had come in from the outside darkness and had from the further end of the hall, but he had been called to order by the chair, by indignant glances from the unenfranchised around him, and finally escorted to the door by Charles Westmacott. resolutions were passed, to be forwarded to a large number of leading statesmen, and the meeting broke up with the conviction that a shrewd blow had been struck for the cause of woman.  
But there was one woman at least to whom the meeting and all that was connected with it had brought anything but pleasure. Clara Walker watched with a heavy heart the friendship and close which had sprung up between her father and the widow. From week to week it had increased until no day ever passed without their being together. The coming meeting had been the excuse for these continual interviews, but now the meeting was over, and still the Doctor would refer every point which rose to the of his neighbor. He would talk, too, to his two daughters of her strength of character, her decisive mind, and of the necessity of their cultivating her acquaintance and following her example, until at last it had become his most common topic of conversation.
 
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 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 .
 
“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 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 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 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.”
 
“No, no, dear. I know that you mean what you say, but I have seen something of the world, and I know that such arrangements never answer. There cannot be two masters in a house, and yet at my age my freedom is very necessary to me.”
 
“But you would be completely free.”
 
“No, dear, you cannot be that if you are a guest in another man's house. Can you suggest no other alternative?”
 
“That we remain with you.”
 
“No, no. That is out of the question. Mrs. Westmacott herself says that a woman's first duty is to marry. Marriage, however, should be an equal , as she points out. I should wish you both to marry, but still I should like a suggestion from you, Clara, as to what I should do.”
 
“But there is no hurry, papa. Let us wait. I do not intend to marry yet.”
 
Doctor Walker looked disappointed. “Well, Clara, if you can suggest nothing, I suppose that I must take the initiative myself,” said he.
 
“Then what do you propose, papa?” She herself as one who sees the blow which is about to fall.
 
He looked at her and hesitated. “How like your poor dear mother you are, Clara!” he cried. “As I looked at you then it was as if she had come back from the grave.” He stooped towards her and kissed her. “There, run away to your sister, my dear, and do not trouble yourself about me. Nothing is settled yet, but you will find that all will come right.”
 
Clara went upstairs sad at heart, for she was sure now that what she had feared was indeed about to come to pass, and that her father was going to take Mrs. Westmacott to be his wife. In her pure and earnest mind her mother's memory was enshrined as that of a saint, and the thought that any one should take her place seemed a terrible . Even worse, however, did this marriage appear when looked at from the point of view of her father's future. The widow might fascinate him by her knowledge of the world, her dash, her strength, her unconventionality—all these qualities Clara was willing to allow her—but she was convinced that she would be unendurable as a life companion. She had come to an age when habits are not lightly to be changed, nor was she a woman who was at all likely to attempt to change them. How would a sensitive man like her father stand the constant strain of such a wife, a woman who was all decision, with no softness, and nothing in her nature? It passed as a when they heard of her drinking, her cigarette smoking, her occasional whiffs at a long clay pipe, her horsewhipping of a drunken servant, and her companionship wi............