******
It was a week later. The excitement and altercations and retaliations and dealing out of justice which had followed William’s abortive attempt to marry Ethel were over.
Ethel had gone into the morning-room for a book. The Outlaws were playing in the garden outside. Their strong young voices floated in through the open window.
“Now let’s have a change,” William was saying. “Ginger be Mr. March an’ Joan be Ethel.... Now, begin ... go on.... Joan, come on ... walkin’ kind of silly like Ethel ... an’ Ginger go to meet her with a soft look on your face.... That’s it ... now, start!”
“Well, little girl?” said Ginger in a shrill affected voice. “I know how your little heart beats at me. I know I am your knight an’ all that.”
“You’ve left a lot out,” said William. “You’ve left out where he said he wouldn’t marry her on Monday. Now you go on, Joan.”
“Mr. March,” squeaked Joan in piercing hauteur, “are you mad?”
“No,” corrected William. “’Are you feelin’ ill?’ comes first. Let’s start again an’ get it all right....”
Ethel flounced out of the room and slammed the door. She found her mother in the dining-room darning socks.
“Mother,” she said, “can’t we do anything about William? Can’t we send him to an orphanage or anything?”