This fear, however, was soon dissipated.  As he entered his hall he heard the voice of Ida uplifted in a rollicking ditty, and a very strong smell of tobacco was borne to his nostrils.  He threw open the dining-room door, and stood aghast at the scene which met his eyes.

The room was full of the blue wreaths of smoke, and the lamp-light shone through the thin haze upon gold-topped bottles, plates, napkins, and a litter of oyster shells and cigarettes.  Ida, flushed and excited, was reclining upon the settee, a wine-glass at her elbow, and a cigarette between her fingers, while Charles Westmacott sat beside her, with his arm thrown over the head of the sofa, with the suggestion of a caress.  On the other side of the room, Clara was lounging in an arm-chair, with Harold beside her, both smoking, and both with wine-glasses beside them.  The Doctor stood speechless in the doorway, staring at the Bacchanalian scene.

“Come in, papa!  Do!” cried Ida.  “Won’t you have a glass of champagne?”

“Pray excuse me,” said her father, coldly, “I feel that I am intruding.  I did not know that you were entertaining.  Perhaps you will kindly let me know when you have finished.  You will find me in my study.”  He ignored the two young men completely, and, closing the door, retired, deeply hurt and mortified, to his room.  A quarter of an hour afterwards he heard the door slam, and his two daughters came to announce that the guests were gone.

“Guests!  Whose guests?” he cried angrily.  “What is the meaning of this exhibition?”

“We have been giving a little supper, papa.  They were our guests.”

“Oh, indeed!” The Doctor laughed sarcastically.  “You think it right, then, to entertain young bachelors late at night, to, smoke and drink with them, to——­ Oh, that I should ever have lived to blush for my own daughters!  I thank God that your dear mother never saw the day.”

“Dearest papa,” cried Clara, throwing her arms about him.  “Do not be angry with us.  If you understood all, you would see that there is no harm in it.”

“No harm, miss!  Who is the best judge of that?”

“Mrs. Westmacott,” suggested Ida, slyly.

The Doctor sprang from his chair.  “Confound Mrs. Westmacott!” he cried, striking frenziedly into the air with his hands.  “Am I to hear of nothing but this woman?  Is she to confront me at every turn?  I will endure it no longer.”

“But it was your wish, papa.”

“Then I will tell you now what my second and wiser wish is, and we shall see if you will obey it as you have the first.”

“Of course we will, papa.”

“Then my wish is, that you should forget these odious notions which you have imbibed, that you should dress and act as you used to do, before ever you saw this woman, and that, in future, you confine your intercourse with her to such civilities as are necessary between neighbors.”