"Didn't," said Frank.
"Don't tell an untruth, Frank," his father warned him. "Did you or did you not put a beetle on Mary's neck?"
"It was a spider," admitted Frank, who, tease and scapegrace as he was, had not yet developed into that most difficult of persons to deal with--a liar.
"It was something crawly, and I thought it was a beetle," said Mary; "he keeps beetles," she added, in a tone conveying painfully correct knowledge on the point.
"Apologise at once to Mary," Mr Maybury commanded his son.
"Don't see why I should," muttered the rebellious youth.
"Very well, then--you will not go to the theatre to-night with Mr Jefferson and Dora."
The younger Miss Maybury, blushing somewhat (Jim noted the fact with a sinking heart), hastened to the scene of reprimand. "Oh, Frank--say you are sorry. You must come to-night."
Mr Jefferson, with his eye on the old-fashioned chandelier, fervently hoped that Frank would remain obstinately unrepentant.
"I'm--er--sorry," said Frank, stiffly.