“Oh, mayn’t I give you the kiss after breakfast?”
“No; I will take it now, and another after breakfast,” he answered with a smile, and she sprang to his side, eager to give and receive the accustomed caress.
“Is that the punishment for being unpunctual, papa?” asked Max, facetiously.
“For the first offence,” replied his father; “and I don’t expect a repetition of it from my usually prompt eldest daughter.”
“She is that,” acknowledged Max; “I’ll be more likely to be unpunctual another time than she; and then, papa, I’ll expect the very same punishment you have given her.”
“Ah, don’t make too sure of it; circumstances alter cases, and much will depend upon the excuse you bring.”
Lulu felt grateful at the time for her father’s leniency, but her fretfulness and irritability soon returned, and all went wrong with her; her recitations were poor, and when told her lessons must be learned over, she sulked and pouted.
Her father thought it best not to seem to notice her ill-humor, but did not relax in his requirements. She must give her mind to her tasks and recite them creditably, he said, before she could be dismissed to her play. She had scarcely succeeded in that when the dinner-bell rang.
Her face did not wear its usual pleasant expression during the meal, and she had nothing to say, though all around her were chatting in their accustomed cheery fashion. Once or twice her father gave her a troubled look, but he administered no reproof.
On leaving the table he repaired to the library to attend to some correspondence. He was giving all his thoughts to that when a jesting remark in Max’s voice, speaking from the adjoining room, caught his ear.