An angry flush dyed Antoinette's cheeks as she observed her daughter's indifference.
"Where is my whip? I say. Flora saw you with it yesterday, whipping that hobby-horse. I told you to keep your hands off of it, didn't I? If you don't go and find it quick, I'll box you soundly, you meddlesome little brat!"
"I haven't had it since you told me I shouldn't play with it. Flora tells a story," answered Cornelia, sobbing.
"You did have it!" cried the angry mother, shaking her hand threateningly.
"Did you see her with it?" asked Eugene, rising, with the child in his arms.
"I know she had it!"
"Did you see her with it, I asked you?"
"No; but Flora did, and that is all the same; besides, I—"
"Here is the whip, ma'am. I found it last week in the hall, behind a chair, and put it in the cane stand. The last time you went to ride, you put it and your gloves on a chair in the hall, and went into the parlor to see some company. Flora picked up the gloves and carried them upstairs, but didn't see the whip."
John, the dining-room servant, handed her a small whip, with mother- of-pearl handle, inlaid with gold.