“That’s temper!” said Laura decisively. “Pure temper. He wants a lesson. If he were mine——” The sound of crying grew and died again as a maid opened and shut the door. “Smack him,” said Laura firmly. “A good sound smacking! There’s nothing like it.” “She’s quite right, Mother, you know,” corroborated Justin. But, agreeing with her as he did, he yet caught himself contrasting her pretty, resolute frown with his mother’s soft distress, and thinking that if he were Timothy he knew which he should prefer. Laura was a sensible girl, of course ... but rather hard, in this matter of a small kid? Yes, hard.... He didn’t like a woman to be hard.... His mother now.... Yet it was surprising that his mother had not put up more of a fight for Timothy.... Meekly letting herself be overborne by Laura.... Yet behind that meekness—he glanced suspiciously across the table—yes, behind it his mother was enjoying herself ... laughing at somebody or something.... He knew that quiet, delicious twinkle.... Now at whom or what, he wondered, was she laughing? His uncertainty spoiled the flavour of his strawberries. Laura also found her dessert less toothsome than usual. Through the snatches of conversation she caught herself alert for the faint sound that had disturbed Mrs. Cloud. But Mrs. Cloud had apparently forgotten again. Of course Timothy was a naughty child ... but she did think Mrs. Cloud might after all have gone up to him ... just for a minute.... She had expected her to go in spite of protests. He was not crying now.... All quiet.... She supposed he was all right.... She played with her strawberries. She had taken far more than she wanted.... The afternoon had given her a headache—the indecisive, disappointing afternoon.... It was a pity to waste five fine strawberries.... Timothy would have enjoyed them, bless his greedy little heart.... He was as quiet as a lamb now.... “I suppose he _is_ all right?” she said aloud to no-one in particular. She was unanswered: the table was all a-chatter. She pushed back her chair, shook out her skirts and picked up, unobtrusively, her plate of strawberries. “Mrs. Cloud! I think I’ll just run up and see if he’s all right. D’you mind?” A nod approved her and she slipped out of the room. The bright old eyes followed her, well-pleased. Justin did not miss her till he had put himself to the trouble of setting up the bridge table, a collapsible affair that he had never noticed was easier to manage with Laura at his elbow to keep down the legs that were down and to hold up the legs that were up. Deserted, he found that all four legs were inclined to kick at him and make him feel undignified. He could not help feeling annoyed with Laura, and said so to his mother. “Where on earth has Laura got to? Aren’t we going to have any bridge?”