Mr. Rendall was by no means satisfied of the advisability of taking so lenient a course. He considered it pointed to a lack of authority which might well prove fatal in the moulding of character. He decided, therefore, to tackle Wynne himself upon the subject, and did so in his accustomed style.
Wynne was working at Latin declensions in the morning-room when his father entered.
“Proper time for everything,” he said. “Put away that book and go out for a walk—plenty of time for book reading in school hours.”
“All right,” said Wynne, with resignation. As he walked toward the door the smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Here! come back,” ordered Mr. Rendall. “Now then what are you smiling at?”
Wynne thought for a moment, then he answered, “I shan’t tell you.”
“Oh, you won’t!”
“No. I obey what you tell me to do, and without any fuss, but I shan’t tell you why I smile.”
“We’ll see about that. P’r’aps I can find a way to stop it.”
“You couldn’t.”