take we continually make. If
the dolls dance exquisitely we should ignore the man who pulls the
wires. Results are everything. When we see you in that pretty
ivory-coloured suit we are content that you are pretty; we don't wish to
learn how every button is buttoned, how every string is tied."

"There aren't any strings," cried Tommy. "Boys don't have strings."

"We don't care to find out how the tailor cuts and fashions, how he sews
and stitches. He does all this in order that you may be beautiful. And
we have only to think of you. Do you love this carnation, Tommy, as I
love it? Do you worship its wonderful green? It is like some exquisite
painted creature with dyed hair and brilliant eyes. It has the supreme
merit of being perfectly unnatural. To be unnatural is often to be
great. To be natural is generally to be stupid. To-morrow I will give
you a carnation, Tommy, and you shall wear it at church when you go to
hear my beautiful anthem."

Tommy gave vent to ecstatic cries of joy.

Lady Locke, standing by the window, reddened all over her face, and a
fire flashed suddenly in her usually calm and gentle eyes. She threw the
yellow roses roughly down upon her dressing-table and went hastily out
of the room, leaving the door open behind her. When she reached the
drawing-room she called her boy in from the garden.

"Tommy," she said, "it is past eight. Run away to bed. You were very
late last night."

The child immediately began to protest; but she cut him short.

"Off with you," she cried. "Make haste. I can see you are looking
tired."

"I am not tired, mother," said the boy, preparing to whimper.

"Tired or not, you must go when I say it," answered Lady Locke, with a
harshness such as she had never displayed before. "Don't dispute about
the matter, but go straight off. My boy must be like a soldier and obey
the orders of his superior officer. I am your superior officer."

She pointed to the door, and Tommy departed reluctantly, with a very red
face, and the menacing expression of an angry, governed child.

Lord Reggie came in from the garden. He found Lady Locke apparently
immersed in the foreign intelligence of the _Times_ Supplement.

* * * * *

That evening, after dinner, Lady Locke said to Lord Reggie--

"I don't wish my little boy to wear flowers. He is too young. I heard
you promising him a carnation for to-morrow. You mustn't think me rude,
but, please, don't give him