“Oh, I left him with a woman who comes in to help me—and who understands him. But I shall call in the doctor on my way home.” Ursula stood still. She felt vague threats in all this. But the woman was so utterly strange to her, that she did not understand. “He told me he had been beaten,” continued the woman, “and when I undressed him to put him to bed, his body was covered with marks—I could show them to any doctor.” Mr. Harby looked at Ursula to answer. She began to understand. The woman was threatening to take out a charge of assault on her son against her. Perhaps she wanted money. “I caned him,” she said. “He was so much trouble.” “I’m sorry if he was troublesome,” said the woman, “but he must have been shamefully beaten. I could show the marks to any doctor. I’m sure it isn’t allowed, if it was known.” “I caned him while he kept kicking me,” said Ursula, getting angry because she was half excusing herself, Mr. Harby standing there with the twinkle at the side of his eyes, enjoying the dilemma of the two women. “I’m sure I’m sorry if he behaved badly,” said the woman. “But I can’t think he deserved beating as he has been. I can’t send him to school, and really can’t afford to pay the doctor.—Is it allowed for the teachers to beat the children like that, Mr. Harby?” The headmaster refused to answer. Ursula loathed herself, and loathed Mr. Harby with his twinkling cunning and malice on the occasion. The other miserable woman watched her chance. “It is an expense to me, and I have a great struggle to keep my boy decent.” Ursula still would not answer. She looked out at the asphalt yard, where a dirty rag of paper was blowing. “And it isn’t allowed to beat a child like that, I am sure, especially when he is delicate.” Ursula stared with a set face on the yard, as if she did not hear. She loathed all this, and had ceased to feel or to exist. “Though I know he is troublesome sometimes—but I think it was too much. His body is covered with marks.” Mr. Harby stood sturdy and unmoved, waiting now to have done, with the twinkling, tiny wrinkles of an ironical smile at the corners of his eyes. He felt himself master of the situation. “And he was violently sick. I couldn’t possibly send him to school to-day. He couldn’t keep his head up.” Yet she had no answer. “You will understand, sir, why he is absent,” she said, turning to Mr. Harby. “Oh, yes,” he said, rough and off-hand. Ursula detested him for his male triumph. And she loathed the woman. She loathed everything. “You will try to have it remembered, sir, that he has a weak heart. He is so sick after these things.” “Yes,” said the headmaster, “I’ll see about it.” “I know he is troublesome,” the woman only addressed herself to the male now—“but if you could have him punished without beating—he is really delicate.” Ursula was beginning to feel upset. Harby stood in rather superb mastery, the woman cringing to him to tickle him as one tickles trout.