As the door slammed Ida burst into a shout of laughter. "You see, Clara," she cried, "the charm works already. He has gone to number one instead of to number three. Oh, we shall win a great victory. You've been very good, dear; I could see that you were on thorns to help him when he was looking for his boots.""Poor papa!It is so cruel.And yet what are we to do?""Oh, he will enjoy being comfortable all the more if we give him a little discomfort now. What horrible work this chemistry is! Look at my frock! It is ruined. And this dreadful smell!" She threw open the window, and thrust her little golden-curled head out of it. Charles Westmacott was hoeing at the other side of the garden fence.

"Good morning, sir," said Ida.

"Good morning!"The big man leaned upon his hoe and looked up ather.

"Have you any cigarettes, Charles?" "Yes, certainly.""Throw me up two."

"Here is my case.Can you catch!"

A seal-skin case came with a soft thud on to the floor.Ida opened it.

It was full.

"What are these?" she asked. "Egyptians."

"What are some other brands?"

"Oh, Richmond Gems, and Turkish, and Cambridge.But why?" "Never mind!"She nodded to him and closed the window."Wemust remember all those, Clara," said she. "We must learn to talk about such things. Mrs. Westmacott knows all about the brands of cigarettes. Has your rum come?""Yes, dear.It is here."

"And I have my stout. Come along up to my room now. This smell is too abominable. But we must be ready for him when he comes back. If we sit at the window we shall see him coming down the road."The fresh morning air, and the genial company of the Admiral had caused the Doctor to forget his troubles, and he came back about midday in an excellent humor. As he opened the hall door the vile smell of chemicals which had spoilt his breakfast met him with a redoubled virulence. He threw open the hall window, entered the dining-room, and stood aghast at the sight which met his eyes.

Ida was still sitting among her bottles, with a lit cigarette in her lefthand and a glass of stout on the table beside her. Clara, with another cigarette, was lounging in the easy chair with several maps spread out upon the floor around. Her feet were stuck up on the coal scuttle, and she had a tumblerful of some reddish-brown composition on the smoking table close at her elbow. The Doctor gazed from one to the other of them through the thin grey haze of smoke, but his eyes rested finally in a settled stare of astonishment upon his elder and more serious daughter.

"Clara!" he gasped, "I could not have believed it!" "What is it, papa?""You are smoking!"

"Trying to, papa.I find it a little difficult, for I have not been used toit."

"But why, in the name of goodness--" "Mrs. Westmacott recommends it.""Oh, a lady of mature years may do many things which a young girlmust avoid."