ed a mule out there."

"Poor Sir William!" laughed Lady Clara. "But how has he roused your
wrath?"

"He is so persistent-so dogmatic."

"Upon what point?"

"Well, he has been laying down the law about Ida. He has decreed, it
seems, that she is to go to Tangier."

"He said something to that effect before he went up to you."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

The slow-moving, inscrutable eye came sliding round to her.

Lady Clara's face had assumed an expression of transparent obvious
innocence, an intrusive candour which is never seen in nature save when
a woman is bent upon deception.

"He examined her lungs, Charles. He did not say much, but his
expression was very grave."

"Not to say owlish," interrupted the Minister.

"No, no, Charles; it is no laughing matter. He said that she must have
a change. I am sure that he thought more than he said. He spoke of
dulness and crepitation, and the effects of the African air. Then the
talk turned upon dry, bracing health resorts, and he agreed that
Tangier was the place. He said that even a few months there would work
a change."

"And that was all?"

"Yes, that was all."

Lord Charles shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who is but
half convinced.

"But of course," said Lady Clara, serenely, "if you think it better
that Ida should not go she shall not. The only thing is that if she
should get worse we might feel a little uncomfortable afterwards. In a
weakness of that sort a very short time may make a difference. Sir
William evidently thought the matter critical. Still, there is no
reason why he should influence you. It is a little responsibility,
however. If you take it all upon yourself and free me from any of it,
so that afterwards----"

"My dear Clara, how you do croak!"

"Oh! I don't wish to do that, Charles. But you remember what happened
to Lord Bellamy's child. She was just Ida's age. That was another
case in which Sir William's advice was disregarded."

Lord Charles groaned impatiently.

"I have not disregarded it," said he.

"No, no, of course not. I know your strong sense, and your good heart
too well, dear. You were very wisely looking at both sides of the
question. That is what we poor women cannot do. It is emotion against
reason, as I have often heard you say. We are swayed this way and
that, but you men are persistent, and so you gain your way with us.
But I am so pleased that you have decided for Tangier."

"Have