Ursula still would not answer. She looked out at the asphalt yard, where a dirty rag of paper was blowing.

“And it isn't allowed to beat a child like that, I am sure, especially when he is delicate.”

Ursula stared with a set face on the yard, as if she did not hear. She loathed all this, and had ceased to feel or to exiSt. “Though I know he is troublesome sometimes — but I think it was too much. His body is covered with marks.”

Mr. Harby stood sturdy and unmoved, waiting now to have done, with the twinkling, tiny wrinkles of an ironical smile at the corners of his eyes.

He felt himself master of the situation.

“And he was violently sick. I couldn't possibly send him to school to-day. He couldn't keep his head up.”