Kent happened to have just gone down the stairs on his way out. The noise of the scuffle reached him in the entrance passage and brought him up to the studio door.
“What is the matter?” he asked, taking the boy from Clytie's grasp into his own.
“The matter? Go inside. I must call Winnie. Winnie!”
She opened the sitting-room door. Winifred ran out, holding her gloves, which she had just taken off, in her hand.
“That boy—that little devil!” cried Clytie, and they both ran into the studio.
Kent had just entered, and was standing before the mutilated picture holding the boy, who in Kent's hands was struggling violently. Winifred looked at it for a moment blankly, scarcely understanding. Then the sickening truth rose to her brain, and she leaned, very white, against the wall, looking at the others.
“For God's sake take the little brute out and kill him, Mr. Kent!” Clytie broke out fiercely. “Murder him! break every bone in his body! To have done such a thing as that! It is not human.”
“I'll give him a thundering hiding,” said Kent wrathfully, dragging him towards the door.
But Winifred rose quickly, moved her neck, cleared her throat, and laid her hand on Kent's arm.
“Don't beat him—I couldn't bear it.”