"Joan, come right away from him. Come over here."

"What _will_ your father say?"

"William, my _carpet_!"

For the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to William's
boots.

Doggedly William defended himself.

"I was showin' 'em how to do things. I was bein' a host. I was tryin'
to make 'em _happy_! I----"

"William, don't stand there talking. Go straight upstairs to the
bathroom."

It was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly William had lost.
Yet William had caught sight of the smile on Cuthbert's face and
William had decided that that smile was something to be avenged.

But fate did not favour him. Indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse.

The idea of a children's play did not emanate from William's mother,
or Joan's. They were both free from guilt in that respect. It emanated
from Mrs. de Vere Carter. Mrs. de Vere Carter was a neighbour with a
genius for organisation. There were few things she did not organise
till their every other aspect or aim was lost but that of
"organisation." She also had what amounted practically to a disease