The child flushed painfully and her eyes fell again. "I don't want to," she repeated. Force got up from his chair, muttered something under his breath, and moved away. He almost collided with Bingle. "What's the matter with these kids of yours, Bingle?" he began irascibly. "Why don't you bring them up properly? Teach 'em politeness. Teach them how to behave toward--" "My dear Force, has--has Kathleen been rude?" said Mr. Bingle in distress. "You are not to reprimand her," said Force hastily. "I wouldn't have you do that for the world. She'd always have it in for me if she knew that I--but, what nonsense I'm talking. They are little ingrates anyhow--all of them. Good Lord, Bingle, I can't understand what you see in the brats." "I know you can't," said Mr. Bingle mildly. "That's just the difference between us." "There's only one in the whole lot that I'd have as a gift," said Force, with a sidelong glance at Kathleen, who was joyous once more. "That girl has got some class to her. Why is it, Bingle, that she dislikes me? All the rest of 'em are friendly enough--too friendly, if anything--but she won't even look at me." "That's the woman of it," said Mr. Bingle. "What's the woman of it?" demanded Force gruffly. "What do you mean by 'woman of it'? Don't be silly, Bingle. She's a mere child." "She'll come around all right," said Mr. Bingle gaily. "Give her time, old fellow, give her time." "Good heavens, what a racket they're making," growled Force. "Have you no control over them, Bingle? I'd send the whole lot of them to bed, hang me if I wouldn't." "On Christmas Eve? Oh, no, you wouldn't, old--Where are you going?" "I'm going into the library to smoke," said Force. "I can't stand the row." "Now, don't do that," pleaded Mr. Bingle, grasping his arm. "Wait a minute. I'll speak to Kathie. She--" "Do nothing of the sort," snapped Force. "She doesn't like me, and that's all there is to it. I've taken a fancy to the child, Bingle--I never liked a kid before in all my life. I've got a little present for her, but--oh, well, never mind. I'll put it in her stocking, if you'll tell me which is hers. But I say, why doesn't she like me, Bingle?" He was staring at the back of Kathleen's brown, curly head, and his eyes were filled with perplexity. "Bashful--just bashful," explained Mr. Bingle. "Do you really think so?" demanded the other eagerly. "Sure," said Mr. Bingle, delighted. "All girls go through that stage of development. I don't mind saying to you, Force, she's my favourite. It's a dreadful thing to say, but I'd rather lose any one of them--or all of them--than to lose Kathie. I love her with all my heart." Flanders was shaking hands with the small boys, Mrs. Bingle looking on with placid approval. "What's your name, my little man?" "Abraham." "Ahem!" coughed Mrs. Bingle, with a violent start. "Reginald, sir," gasped he whose memory was still faithful when under the pressure of excitement.