"Well, children," he managed to say, "I'm sorry that Isabelle was such a naughty girl at her own party, but she is only four years old, we must remember, and I suppose she did not know any better."
"I'm free an' a half, an' I don't take off my cloves at a party," bragged one of the female infants.
"No, I'm sure you don't. It isn't done," said Wally, helplessly.
"She always spoils parties. I wanted not to have her at mine, but mother made me," remarked Tommy Page.
"She always wants to boss everything," Margie Hunter complained.
"Are you going to whip her?" demanded another child.
"She will be punished, believe me," replied Wally, firmly. "But I think we'd better call the party over."
"We can't go yet, the nurses and chauffeurs haven't come," Tommy protested. "I'd like to hear her yell when she's licked."
"Our man will take you all home in the big station wagon, so get on your hats," Wally ordered.
Fifteen minutes later the smallest child was packed in, with one of the maids in command, and the motor slid off down the drive, leaving Wally on the door step.
In the hall he met Miss Wilder, still bearing marks of the late excitement.
"I have put Isabelle to bed, Mr. Bryce. Mrs. Bryce says that you are to prescribe her punishment."
"I don't want to punish her. Can't you manage it alone?" he said.
"No, I cannot. Isabelle needs the authority of her parents now and then to back me up," said Miss Wilder, severely.
"I think a severe spanking is what she needs."
"What do ye suppose ever put such an idea in her head?"
"You never know what she is going to do. She asked me about barbarians when I was trying to induce her to get dressed for the party. I told her some facts, just to occupy her mind."
"It occupied her mind all right," laughed Wally, who left Miss Wilder with the idea that he thought the joke was at her expense. She determined to give notice at once, and leave at the end of her month.
Wally went upstairs and turned his unaccustomed feet into the nursery. He hesitated before he opened the door, but no sounds of repentant sobs met his ear, so he went in. Isabelle, the picture of alert interest, sat up in bed and eyed him.
He sat down on the edge of her bed and looked at her. Max was right; she was no prize beauty, with her baby face like an old woman's, with her nondescript features, her short brown hair. But her eyes were disturbing--big dusky, wise eyes, with no effect of childishness.