As ill-luck would have it, Challis, coming down at this moment to breakfast, and not in a beaming good-humour himself, heard his wife's indictment, and quickened his descent of the stairs. He resolved at once on his usual policy whenever Marianne came to open warfare with any of the family--namely, to take her part at the moment, for discipline's sake, even supposing he had to make amends for it after by concessions. "What is the matter?" said he magisterially, in the pause of silence his entry created. It was more impressive than any amount of excitement, and the younger little girl, Emmie, began to cry in a terrified way. Nothing creates the formidable like fear, even when it is only a small child's. The tension became full-blown, having--please observe!--all grown out of nothing. "You must ask your boy what he means, Alfred, and find for yourself. All I can say is, that if I am to be spoken to so before the servants, I cannot go on." "How dare you speak to your mother so--eh? What do you mean by it?" Challis's assumption of uncontrollable anger is affectation, merely from motives of policy. He knows he can make it up with Bob, any time. "_I didn't._" Bob no more knows what he is denying than his father knows what he has accused him of. Never mind! Families don't quarrel by the book. Bob is scarlet, for all that, and warms to his subject. "_She_ took my Record, and it cost a shilling, and twopence over. _She_ wanted to prevent me...." But it remains untold, whatever it was, for Marianne interrupts: "You can hear for yourself how he calls me _she_. But do as you like, Alfred!"--use of this name means a state of siege, observe!--"He is your boy." After which disclaimer of a parentage no one had accused her of, she repeats, "_She, indeed!_" to rub it in. Challis at once perceived that he must either sacrifice poor Bob on the altar of Peace, or be entangled in a hopeless discussion of rights and wrongs with Marianne; _how_ hopeless, only experience such as his could know! Action was necessary, and he pounced on Bob, seizing him by the collar of his coat. "How _dare_ you speak so to your mother? How _dare_ you...." But stop! He could never ask him how he dared say _she_ to his mother! Even Marianne would suspect him of making game of her. So he had to pretend that his indignation had overwhelmed him. "Don't answer me, sir," he shouted, shaking the culprit with a severity probably more apparent than real. "Be off to your room directly, and stop there!" And the child that was crying broke into a roar, to do honour to the way the scene had climaxed. Bob vanished.