outrageously. One wasn't given a Greek head, many
millions, and an exaggerated sense of one's Ego, in order that one might
practise the homelier virtues, such as unselfishness.

At his "devilish motherly" she laughed out--her ringing, contralto
laugh, that was so delicious and that made him want to shake her and to
kiss her violently, at one and the same time.

"'Devilish motherly'...." she repeated. "I'm sorry I remind you of
Medea--she's the only person I can think of who was 'devilish motherly'
..."

Before Loring could reply, Bobby's voice broke in, austere and haughty.

"My muvvah is _not_ deviliss," he said.

Loring went round beside him.

"Bully for you, General!" he exclaimed. "You'd fight a duel with me this
minute, if you could--wouldn't you?"

Bobby pressed close to Sophy. He refused to yield Loring his other hand.

"Please go away," he said coldly. "I don't want you."

"Well ... your 'muvvah' don't want me either."

"No. She wants me," said Bobby.

He looked up at Sophy, his chin quivering. He resented Loring's
imitation of the way that he pronounced "mother."

"Don't you?" he appealed to her.

She stooped to him.

"More than anything in the whole, round world or the blue sky," she
reassured him. He smiled to feel her lips on his cheek. Close in her ear
he whispered:

"We don't want _him_, do we? Make him go away."

"No. We must always be polite," she whispered back.

He sighed deeply.

"It's awful hard being p'lite," he mourned. "Mos' as hard as being
good."

They all walked on in silence for a few moments.

Then Bobby said, with what Sophy called his "inspirational look":

"God ain't p'lite, Muvvah."

"Hello!" laughed Loring.

"Sssh!" said Sophy, flashing him a vexed look.

"Why, darling?" she asked her son.

"'Cause ev'y night I talks and talks to God, an' He never even says,
'Mh-Mh, Bobby.' Vat ain't p'lite--are it?"

Loring strode on ahead to have his laugh out. He thought Bobby the
"funniest little beggar" in the world. She was always scolding him for
laughing at the boy out of season.

"Children and dogs hate being laughed at," she now told him. "Didn't
_you_ hate being laughed at when you were little?"

"Can't remember," said Loring. "I suppose so. But as for that, men don't
like being laughed at either."

"_You_ don't, I know. But it's very good for you."

"Why isn't it good for the General?"

"My name's Bobby," came the small but haughty voice. At times her