them.

The former, Captain Charles Somerton by name and title, a lithe and
active man of middle age, was evidently ill at ease. He stood close
beside his writing-desk, shuffling restlessly from one foot to another,
and toying with a paper-knife. His wife, on the other hand, was
apparently calm and self-contained, though a careful scrutiny of her
features would have shown that passion had almost mastered her. She was
a proud, haughty-looking woman, and now that her temper had almost got
the better of her there was a decidedly evil look upon her face. She
listened impatiently to what her husband was saying, glaring spitefully
at him, and occasionally opening her lips as if on the point of
interrupting.

"My dear," the captain was saying, somewhat nervously, "you really must
be more kind to the poor little chap. Scold him if you wish to, for I
have no doubt that, like all boys, he is constantly up to some kind of
mischief; but if you have occasion to correct him, do so in a more
gentle manner. He is quite a young lad, you must remember, and I am
sure that his worst deeds cannot merit such punishment. You frighten
him out of his life, and you do what I consider an extremely unkind
thing--you constantly hurt his feelings, well knowing him to be a
thin-skinned boy. Poor little chap! If you are not more careful he
will detest you. You say that he and Frank together smashed a piece of
valuable china in your boudoir? How then is it that Frank is forgiven,
while Jack, who is the younger by more than a year, has his ears boxed
and is spoken to so harshly?"

"There you are again, Charles!" was Mrs Somerton's angry answer. "How
often must I tell you that Jack is the ringleader in all the mischief?
If it were not for him Frank would never go astray, for he is a quiet
and good-mannered boy, and, unless led away by the bad example of the
other, always conducts himself as I should wish."

"I am much inclined to disagree with you there, Julia," the captain
replied, with some show of temper. "It seems to me that there is
something of the hypocrite about Frank. His manners may be good, but he
can never look one in the face, and he is ready at any moment to snivel
and whine. Jack may be a naughty boy, and given to getting into
mischief, but I tell you candidly that I would far rather that he were
so than a namby-pamby, milk-sop lad, afraid to say boo! to a goose.
He's a plucky little fellow, and all that is wrong with hi