And he discharged a groom for whistling on Sunday.  
But if these expedients salved his conscience, they 
did nothing to quell Gertrude's incipient tendency to in-
dependence of thought and action. There had been a 
very unpleasant scene when he threw into the fire a 
book from Mudie’s (I thought one could have trusted 
Mudie’s!) called ‘The Stolen Bacillus,’ which he under-
stood to be of a grossly immoral tendency. (Nasty filth 
about free love or something, isn't it?)  
Theodore Bugg was not a sensitive man; excess of 
intuitive sympathy had not made his life a hell; but he 
felt that his domestic relations were strained. Especially 
since “that Mrs. Grahame” had evinced a liking for 
Gertrude. Her husband's colonelcy was the gilding of the 
pill; but the pill was a bitter one, for Mrs. Grahame went 
motoring and even golfing on Sunday instead of going to 
Church, and once or twice had taken Gertrude with her, 
to the scandal of the neighbourhood. Colonel Grahame, 
too, rather got on Bugg's nerves, in spite of the “honour 
of his acquaintance.”  
Such thoughts went dully through his mind as he 
waited in the garden for his daughter to come in to tea 
from the “Art Class.” But when she arrived, portfolio in 
hand, her beauty and the splendour of her long easy 
swing determined him to be gracious.  
 Under such circumstances conversation is apt to be 
artificial; but Gertrude was gay and garrulous, and the 
tea went very pleasantly until her father's eye unluckily 
fell on the portfolio. “And what has my little fairy been 
doing lately?” he asked with elephantine lightness.  
“Oh, sketches mostly, father. This week we're copy-
ing from old Greek masterpieces, though. Let me show 
you, father, dear.” She opened the portfolio and turned 
over the leaves. “I'm getting on splendidly. Mr., Davis 
thinks I ought to go to Paris and study properly. Do let 
me.”  
How can you think of such a thing, Gertrude? A 
daughter of mine! Study properly!!! No indeed! A little