"Does Mrs. Westmacott teach you that I am not the head of my own house?"
The Doctor flushed, and his grizzled hair bristled in his anger.
"Certainly. She says that all heads of houses are relics of the dark
ages."
The Doctor muttered something and stamped his foot upon the carpet. Then
without a word he passed out into the garden and his daughters could see
him striding furiously up and down, cutting off the heads of the flowers
with a switch.
"Oh, you darling! You played your part so splendidly!" cried Ida.
"But how cruel it is! When I saw the sorrow and surprise in his eyes I
very nearly put my arms about him and told him all. Don't you think we
have done enough?"
"No, no, no. Not nearly enough. You must not turn weak now, Clara. It is
so funny that I should be leading you. It is quite a new experience. But
I know I am right. If we go on as we are doing, we shall be able to say
all our lives that we have saved him. And if we don't, oh, Clara, we
should never forgive ourselves."