"But he got my ball at the beginning of the game and put it through all the hoops and I couldn't get it back!"
"Don't make excuses. Leave those to weak characters. An excuse is always worse than the thing it tries to cover up. You lost your temper and forgot your manners, and you will not play croquet again for a fortnight."
This meant a fortnight of proud, dignified unhappiness. And it was while this fit of quiet bitterness was still on him that he did a dreadful thing.
One day, when I came home after having been out two or three hours, I found an ominous grimness in the atmosphere of the house, and everybody I met seemed to have a longer upper lip than usual.
"What's the matter?" I asked Miss Torry, who had a horror-stricken look.
"It's Roland. He has been up in the nursery and knocked his sister down and trampled on her. It's a wonder that he hasn't broken any of her ribs."
And I had been out buying pretty clothes in order the better to live up to this boy's ideal of me!
I found him sitting in the dining-room, waiting for his tea, which he always had with us.
"Roland, is it true that you have been upstairs and knocked your sister down and trampled upon her?"
"Yes, mother, it's quite true." His eyes met mine unflinchingly.