“That’s what Mrs. Kane said _he_ was,” pointing a gleeful finger at the young man. “A shocking detrimental, and that Mrs. Brande was a fool to have him here.” “Sweet! How dare you repeat such things?” cried Honor, with blazing cheeks. “You know it is very wrong. What a naughty little girl you are!” “But she _said_ it,” boldly persisted Sweet; “and she is grown up.” “She was joking, of course; grown people often joke.” “She said a great deal. She said that----” “Hus-s-sh! We don’t want to hear tales,” breathlessly interrupted Honor. “She said,” screamed a piping triumphant voice, high above the hus-s-sh, “he was in love with _you_!” “Now,” cried Honor, her passion having risen beyond all control, as she surveyed the pert, self-complacent little model--she dared not look at Mark Jervis--“I told you not to repeat stories. I have told you that over and over again, and yet you delight in doing it because it annoys people--and you do it with impunity. No one has ever punished you--but--_I_ shall punish you.” And before Mark guessed at what was about to happen, Miss Gordon--actively precipitate in her resentment--had snatched the picture from the easel before him, and torn it into four pieces! “There!” she cried breathlessly, “you can get off that chair at once, Sweet. Mr. Jervis has done with you.” Sweet opened her great violet eyes, and gazed in incredulous amazement. Never had she been so served. She had always hitherto made people angry, uncomfortable, or shocked, and gone scathless, and had invariably enjoyed what is known in sporting circles as “a walk over.” Never had she seen such an angry young lady. How red her cheeks were--how brightly her eyes glittered. Then Sweet’s gaze fastened on her own picture, her mouth opened wide, and gave vent to an ear-splitting yell, as she tumbled off her chair, like a canary off its perch, and lay on the verandah, kicking and screaming. “After all,” said Jervis, with an air of humble deprecation, “you need not have been so angry with the poor little beggar; she only spoke the truth.” (That he was a detrimental, or that he was in love with her--which?) Attracted by vociferous shrieks, Mr. and Mrs. Brande rushed upon the scene from opposite doors. The languid ayah also appeared, and raised up her sobbing charge, who now and then varied her sobs by a shrill squeal of fury. “What is it?” cried Mr. Brande, eagerly appealing to Honor and Mark. “I thought you were putting her to torture--at _last_!” “What is it, dearie? What is it? tell me!” pleaded Mrs. Brande. “Come to me, lovey, and tell me all about it, doatie. There now--there now,” making dabs with her handkerchief at the child’s eyes.