“I’ll be hanged if I go, Walker,” said he, as he resumed his walk.  “I’ve never been hustled into doing a thing yet, whether by woman or man.”

“I am not a betting man,” answered the Doctor, “but I rather think that the odds are in favor of your going.”

The Admiral had hardly got home, and had just seated himself in his dining-room, when the attack upon him was renewed.  He was slowly and lovingly unfolding the Times preparatory to the long read which led up to luncheon, and had even got so far as to fasten his golden pince-nez on to his thin, high-bridged nose, when he heard a crunching of gravel, and, looking over the top of his paper, saw Mrs. Westmacott coming up the garden walk.  She was still dressed in the singular costume which offended the sailor’s old-fashioned notions of propriety, but he could not deny, as he looked at her, that she was a very fine woman.  In many climes he had looked upon women of all shades and ages, but never upon a more clearcut, handsome face, nor a more erect, supple, and womanly figure.  He ceased to glower as he gazed upon her, and the frown smoothed away from his rugged brow.

“May I come in?” said she, framing herself in the open window, with a background of green sward and blue sky.  “I feel like an invader deep in an enemy’s country.”

“It is a very welcome invasion, ma’am,” said he, clearing his throat and pulling at his high collar.  “Try this garden chair.  What is there that I can do for you?  Shall I ring and let Mrs. Denver know that you are here?”

“Pray do not trouble, Admiral.  I only looked in with reference to our little chat this morning.  I wish that you would give us your powerful support at our coming meeting for the improvement of the condition of woman.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t do that.”  He pursed up his lips and shook his grizzled head.

“And why not?”

“Against my principles, ma’am.”

“But why?”

“Because woman has her duties and man has his.  I may be old-fashioned, but that is my view.  Why, what is the world coming to?  I was saying to Dr. Walker only last night that we shall have a woman wanting to command the Channel Fleet next.”

“That is one of the few professions which cannot be improved,” said Mrs. Westmacott, with her sweetest smile.  “Poor woman must still look to man for protection.”

“I don’t like these new-fangled ideas, ma’am.  I tell you honestly that I don’t.  I like discipline, and I think every one is the better for it.  Women have got a great deal which they had not in the days of our fathers.  They have universities all for themselves, I am told, and there are women doctors, I hear.  Surely they should rest contented.  What more can they want?”