Elizabeth was fluttering anxiously about the table in her small dining-room when her husband entered in his usual breezy fashion and laid a bunch of fragrant carnations before her. "A finishing touch for your table, Betty," he said; and added with lover-like enthusiasm, "My! how pretty you're looking to-night!" "I shouldn't think I'd look pretty after the day I've put in," she told him as she arranged the flowers in water. "Sam, Mrs. Van Duser was here to luncheon." "No?" "She came to ask me if I had read 'Anthropological Investigations on one thousand children, white and colored,' and I hadn't even looked at it." "So you flatly flunked the exam; poor Betty!" "Not exactly, Sam; I--told her I didn't quite--understand the subject." "Ah, Machiavellian Betty! Did she tumble?" "Oh, Sam! what a way to speak of Mrs. Van Duser. I was the one to tumble, as you call it. She graciously picked me up. Of course Doris was naughty, and Celia spilled cocoa on the table-cloth and passed everything on the wrong side. Then after Mrs. Van Duser went, Evelyn came.--She's up-stairs now, dressing for dinner. And--after that--I don't know what you'll think of me, Sam; but I--was nervous or something I think, and I--whipped Richard." "You--what?" "After all I've said about Marian Stanford, too! I just hate myself for doing it. But I had dressed that child twice all clean, and when I came down to see about dinner and found him playing in the aquarium _again_, Sam, dripping water all over the floor, and with his clothes soaked to the skin, I just seemed to lose all control of myself. I snatched the poor darling up and--and--spanked him as hard as I could. The strange part of it is that I--seemed to enjoy doing it." Her doleful air of abject contrition was too much for Sam. He roared with irrepressible laughter. "Forgive me, Betty," he entreated; "but really, you know----" "I understand now exactly why people whip their children," went on Elizabeth, descending into abysmal depths of humility and grovelling there with visible satisfaction. "I gave way to uncontrollable rage just because I knew I must take the trouble to dress the poor little darling again, and I couldn't think for the minute what flannels to put on him. So I revenged myself, in just a common, spiteful, vulgar way. No, Sam; you needn't try to make light of what I did. Nothing can excuse it!" At that instant the misused infant, dragging a train of iron cars behind him, hove into view. "Chu-chu-chu!" he droned. "Det out the way! Here tomes the 'spress train!" His cherubic countenance was serene and rosy; he beamed impartially upon his parents as he scuffed across the floor. "Well," said his father, endeavouring (unsuccessfully) to view the matter in a serious light, "I fail to observe any signs of violent abuse or tokens of abject fear about the young person; I guess you didn't----" "Hush, Sam! I hope he's forgotten it--the darling! Do you love mother, baby?"