“Muvver’s tired.”
Reproof from a supposed inferior is never particularly welcome. Jack made a clutch at his sister’s doll, landed it by one leg, and proceeded to dangle it head downward before the fire.
“Jack—Jack—don’t!”
The boy chuckled like a tyrant as Gwen, peevish and hypersensitive, burst into a flood of tears. Catherine, who had turned back into the kitchen, reappeared in time to rescue the doll from being melted.
“Jack, I am ashamed of you.”
She took the doll from him, and went to the window to comfort Gwen. John Murchison, conscious of humiliation, adopted an attitude of aggressive scorn.
“Silly old doll.”
“Jack, go up to the nursery.”
“Sha’n’t.”
His courage melted rather abruptly, however, before the look upon his mother’s face. He retreated at his leisure, climbed the stairs slowly, whistling as he went, and kicking the banisters with the toes of his boots.