Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge that she was not a charmer.
The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was their progeny hurt?
"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to bed? I'm pretty tired."
Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative.
As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply:
"Lulu. One moment!"
He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his forehead was a frown.
"You picked the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously.
Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming the door.