"Max, you fool, come here!" was his unpromising summons.
Max came at once, rather red in the face and bright of eyes. Mrs. Wedmore, standing, frightened and anxious, in the background, thought she had never seen her darling boy look so handsome, so manly. He came in very quietly, without swaggering, without defiance, as if he had not noticed the offensive epithet.
His father, who was by this time on the post of vantage, the hearth-rug, with his hands behind him and his back to the fire, pointed imperiously to a chair.
"Sit down, sir."
Max sat down very deliberately on a chair other than the one his father had chosen for him, and looked down on the floor.
"So you are at your old tricks, your old habits!" began Mr. Wedmore.
Max looked up. Then he sat up.
"What old tricks and habits do you mean, sir?"
"Running after every girl you see, and in defiance of all decency, under your mother's very nose."
Mrs. Wedmore would have interposed here, but her husband waved his hand imperially, and she remained silent. Max leaned back in his chair and met his father's eyes steadily.