MISS SUSAN. I thank you. (_She darts off._) PHOEBE. That will do, ladies and gentlemen. You may go. (_They bow or curtsy, and retire to_ MISS SUSAN'S _room, with the exception of_ ARTHUR WELLESLEY TOMSON, _who is standing in disgrace in a corner with the cap of shame on his head, and_ ISABELLA, _a forbidding-looking, learned little girl_. ISABELLA _holds up her hand for permission to speak._) ISABELLA. Please, ma'am, father wishes me to acquire algebra. PHOEBE (_with a sinking_). Algebra! It--it is not a very ladylike study, Isabella. ISABELLA. Father says, will you or won't you? PHOEBE. And you are thin. It will make you thinner, my dear. ISABELLA. Father says I am thin but wiry. PHOEBE. Yes, you are. (_With feeling._) You are very wiry, Isabella. ISABELLA. Father says, either I acquire algebra or I go to Miss Prothero's establishment. PHOEBE. Very well, I--I will do my best. You may go. (ISABELLA _goes and_ PHOEBE _sits wearily._) ARTHUR (_fingering his cap_). Please, ma'am, may I take it off now? PHOEBE. Certainly not. Unhappy boy---- (ARTHUR _grins._) Come here. Are you ashamed of yourself? ARTHUR (_blithely_). No, ma'am. PHOEBE (_in a terrible voice_). Arthur Wellesley Tomson, fetch me the implement. (ARTHUR _goes briskly for the cane, and she hits the desk with it._) Arthur, surely that terrifies you? ARTHUR. No, ma'am. PHOEBE. Arthur, why did you fight with that street boy? ARTHUR. 'Cos he said that when you caned you did not draw blood. PHOEBE. But I don't, do I? ARTHUR. No, ma'am. PHOEBE. Then why fight him? (_Remembering how strange boys are._) Was it for the honour of the school? ARTHUR. Yes, ma'am. PHOEBE. Say you are sorry, Arthur, and I won't punish you. (_He bursts into tears._) ARTHUR. You promised to cane me, and now you are not going to do it. PHOEBE (_incredulous_). Do you wish to be caned? ARTHUR (_holding out his hand eagerly_). If you please, Miss Phoebe. PHOEBE. Unnatural boy. (_She canes him in a very unprofessional manner._) Poor dear boy. (_She kisses the hand._) ARTHUR (_gloomily_). Oh, ma'am, you will never be able to cane if you hold it like that. You should hold it like this, Miss Phoebe, and give it a wriggle like that. (_She is too soft-hearted to follow his instructions._) PHOEBE (_almost in tears_). Go away. ARTHUR (_remembering that women are strange_). Don't cry, ma'am; I love you, Miss Phoebe. (_She seats him on her knee, and he thinks of a way to please her._) If any boy says you can't cane I will blood him, Miss Phoebe. (PHOEBE _shudders, and_ MISS SUSAN _again darts in. She signs to_ PHOEBE _to send_ ARTHUR _away._) MISS SUSAN (_as soon as_ ARTHUR _has gone_). Phoebe, if a herring and a half cost three ha'pence, how many for elevenpence? PHOEBE (_instantly_). Eleven.