"Because it isn't nice. Don't you know what modesty is?" "No; what is it?" "It's--it's--well, it's just that you mustn't show your body to people." "Isn't my face my body?" "That's different. Everybody shows his face." She considered that. "If everybody showed their bodies it would be nice, wouldn't it?" "No," Wally said, harshly, because he felt she was making a fool of him. "But the barbarians never wore any clothes, and they were nice." "That's different. They didn't know any better." "Didn't they? Why didn't God tell them any better?" "I don't know." "Did Jesus wear clothes?" she inquired. "Who?" he demanded, caught unawares. "Jesus. You know, God's boy," she replied, earnestly. "Of course he wore clothes," Wally protested. "Why didn't he tell the barbarians?" "O Lord, I don't know. This has got nothing to do with your performance this afternoon," Wally urged, trying to get back to the subject and on to solid ground. "What kind of punishing are you going to do?" she inquired. "I don't know," he admitted. "What do you think I ought to do?" She thought about that with awakened interest. "There's whipping, but I don't mind that." "You don't?" "No. There's shutting up, but that's fun. I play I'm a prisoner then." "Are there any punishments you don't like?" "Yes. Parties are punishment, and kindiegarden in winter is punishment." "You think the party this afternoon was punishment, do you?" "Yes." "Who punished you?" "Max." "I wish you wouldn't call your mother 'Max.'" "Why not?" "Why do you call her that?" "Because you do." "I don't have to be respectful to her--I mean----" "If you call her that, I'm going to," she said, dismissing that subject. "You're being punished now, you know, being sent off to bed in broad daylight." "But I like it, when you talk to me." He rose promptly. "I'm not going to talk to you. Your punishment is that nobody will talk to you for the rest of the day." "All right"--cheerfully. "You'll just lie here, all alone." "Oh, no," she corrected him, "my playmates will be here, and God's always around." "No playmates shall come in here," he reiterated. "But you can't keep Dorothy and Reginald out, because they're just pretend," she defied him. Wally knew he was beaten. He had never felt so futile in his life. She sat there with her straight little back, her wise eyes fixed on him, and he wished he were well out of the room. "I hope you will lie here and think of what I have said to you," he remarked sonorously. "I'm surprised at you, Isabelle," he added sternly. He rose and hurried toward the door. "Good night, Wally," she said pleasantly, and smiled at him. It is not too much to say that Wally fled. He sought out his wife, who was dressing for dinner. "Well, did you whip her?" she inquired. He evaded that. "I've had a good talk with her"--firmly. She turned her face over her shoulder at him, and laughed. "Terrified her, no doubt." "Where on earth does she get her ideas?"