playing with
the rings that he had given her. Sophy hated these rings, but he
insisted on her wearing them; he was proud of their beauty on the beauty
of her white hand. There were three, a pink pearl, an emerald, a ruby.

As she spoke, he clutched the hand with which he had been toying and
looked up at her.

"Eh?" he said. "What's up?"

"It's about you and Bobby, Cecil."

He put her hand back upon her knee.

"Oh, the tigress and her cub. I see."

"No, Cecil, you don't see. I don't want to be disagreeable. I only want
to try to explain things to you."

"Your son's high priestess interpreter?"

"No, dear; just a woman who understands babies better than a man could."

"Well?"

"I think the boy gets on your nerves, Cecil, and----"

"He does. Cross-grained little beggar."

"Yes, he is cross-grained. But harshness only makes him worse. He's one
of those natures that can only be controlled by love."

"Like yours, eh?"

"Exactly."

Chesney thrust his hands deep into his pockets and smiled. It was an
ugly, secretive smile.

"What the little monkey needs is a good thrashing," said he.

Sophy struggled desperately to keep her voice natural. Her heart was
beginning to beat so fast that she felt her voice must surely tremble.

"Ah, Cecil, do be nice to me," she murmured. "You were so gentle and
kind this afternoon."

"'Gentle and kind!' Oh, Lord!" he went off into a sort of frenzy of
smothered laughter. "'Gentle and kind'--that's your ideal of
manhood--husbandhood---- Eh? What?"

Sophy retreated from him. She remained standing, very quiet, very pale,
her lips pressed together.

"As for being nice to you," he continued between his chuckles, "I
thought it was your offspring you wanted me to be nice to."

Sophy said nothing. She was so angry, and so mortified at her own lack
of self-command in allowing him to make her angry, that she was
literally afraid to speak.

Chesney got up and lounged towards her.

"Look here," he said, putting his face close to hers. "I'd like you to
realise, once for all, that that boy is mine as well as yours--at least
I hope he is----" he interpolated brutally. "And what's more, if I
choose to, I'll go upstairs this moment and thrash him in his crib!"

There is no doubt of it. At that moment Sophy felt the full force of the
expression to have murder in one's heart. In her heart there was
certainly murder. She felt herself saying over and over in thought, as
to some Dark Pow