Louise said nothing. She was careful not to look at her parent, for she knew that her expression was not permissible. His harmless tyrannies irritated her as invariably as her tricks of personality grated upon him. She thought him smug and petty, and despised him for his submissive attitude to her step-mother. His noisy interferences with her personal habits she thought intolerable, though she had learned to endure them stolidly. But most of all, she hated to see his fat, pudgy hands touching her food. She was accustomed to cut bread for the family. No one guessed why she had arrogated to herself that duty. And he, good man, would look at his daughter occasionally, and wonder why she was so unlike his satisfactory sons and their capable mother: would be vaguely annoyed by her silences, and by a certain expression that reminded him uncomfortably of his first "fine-lady" wife; would have an emotion of disquieted responsibility; would hesitate: would end by presenting his daughter with a five-shilling-piece, or be delivered from a dawning sense of responsibility by crumbs on the carpet, the muddy boots of a son and heir, or, as in the present instance, an unjustifiable predilection for butter. "Bread with your meat," he said firmly and handed her a full plate. Then he watched her with interest. His conception of the duties of fatherhood was realised in seeing that his children slightly over-ate themselves at every meal. He did as he would be done by. Louise picked up knife and fork unwillingly. She was dry-mouthed with excitement and the beginnings of a headache, and the liberal portion of hot, rich food sickened her. But anything was better than a fuss. She sliced idly at the slab of liver. Opportunity beckoned Mr. Denny. "Don't play with your food," said the father sharply. She ate a few mouthfuls, conscious of his supervision. Satisfied, he turned at last to his own breakfast. There was a peaceful interval. The children talked among themselves. Mrs. Denny, hidden behind her tea-cosy, was exclusively concerned with the table manners of the youngest boy. The moment was propitious. Softly Louise rose and slipped to the sideboard. Her plate once hidden behind the biscuit-tin.... Mr. Denny looked up. He was ever miraculously alert at breakfast. "More bacon, Louise?" "No, thank you, Father," said Louise fervently. "Have you finished your plate?" "Yes, Father." Her brothers gave tongue joyously. "Oh-h! You whopper!" "Oh, Father, she hasn't!" "Mother, did you hear? Louise says she's finished her bacon. She hasn't." "Not near!" "Not half!" "Not a quarter!" "Well--of all the whopping lies!" Mr. Denny sprang up, his eyes glistening. He, too, enjoyed a scene. The plate was retrieved from its hiding-place and its guilty burden laid bare.