“Silence!” roared his father.
“I’m not sorry—not a bit sorry.”
“D’you intend to do this kind of thing again, then?”
“No. I shan’t do it again—not yet.”
“Then get out of the room—get to bed at once.”
Uncle Clem knew. The villagers do not want to understand. Wynne groped his way from the room and up the stairs. The world was not such a wonderful place after all.
Meanwhile Mrs. Rendall had been taking an inventory of the disaster in the drawing-room. She sought her husband with details of the result.
“The overmantel is quite ruined,” she announced.
“Damn the overmantel!” he retorted.
“Did Wynne say he was sorry?”