"Well, what is it?" she asked sharply. "I can see you know all about it."
"There were the two beans you threw out of the window," he said. "He must have picked up one."
"Beans, indeed!" Ellen replied, scornfully. "Do you mean to tell me that a bean would work all this mischief in the child?"
"I happen to know that it would."
"Comes of picking up things in the street!" Ellen exclaimed. "I'll give it him when I get back, I will!"
"You must forgive me," Burton said, "but I really don't see what you have to complain about. From what you tell me, I should consider the boy very much improved."
"Improved!" Ellen repeated. "An unnatural little impudent scallywag of a child! You don't think I want a schoolmaster in knickerbockers about the place all the time? Found fault with my clothes yesterday, hid some of the ornaments in the parlor, and I caught him doing a sketch of a woman the other day with not a shred of clothes on. Said it was a copy of some statue in the library. It may be your idea of how a boy nine years old should go on, but it isn't mine, and that's straight."
Burton sighed.
"My dear Ellen," he said, "we do not look at this matter from the same point of view, but fortunately as you will say, unfortunately from my point of view, the change in Alfred is not likely to prove lasting. You will find in another few weeks that he will be himself again."
"Don't believe it," Ellen declared. "He's as set in his ways now as a little old man."