rol of herself.

"If Beatrice did this I can not believe that she realized the full
import of the action," he said gravely. "And while I do not wish to
palliate the offense, I fear that you exaggerate the effect upon your
engagements. Your son plays wonderfully well, Mrs. Medulla, and should
not be dependent upon the mere adjunct of curls for an audience."

"Doctor Raymond," spoke the lady earnestly, "I know whereof I speak when
I say that it will be years before Percival can appear before an
audience again. As an Infant Prodigy he was remarkable. As a boy no
manager will take him. There is no between-period with performers. One
must be a prodigy, or a man genius, to command attention. I can not
understand why Beatrice should do it, and I can get no explanation from
either her or Percival."

"Why did you do it, my daughter?" asked the scientist.

But Beatrice was past speaking. Something in her throat choked her. She
looked down suddenly to find that she still held the shears in her hand.
How could any one believe otherwise than that she had cut the boy's
curls when she held the telltale scissors in her hand?

"Why?" asked her father again, but still she did not answer. "Do you
remember what I said about my forgiveness of your carelessness depending
upon your future conduct, Beatrice?"

Bee nodded, battling hard to keep back the tears. She did not wish to
get Percival into trouble, yet she was not willing that her father
should think that she would be capable of doing anything that would
bring harm to Mrs. Medulla. Presently, obtaining the mastery of her
emotion, she crossed swiftly to his side and laid her hand timidly upon
his arm.

"Father," she cried pleadingly, "please don't ask me to tell you
anything about the matter. I--I can't."

"Why, Beatrice?"

The girl did not reply. She only gazed at him with mutely appealing
eyes.

"Is it because it would involve another in the telling?" he asked
abruptly, stirred, perhaps, by a remembrance of his own youth.

"Yes," whispered Bee. "Please, please, father, don't ask anything more."

"Suppose we let the affair rest until tomorrow, Mrs. Medulla," suggested
he, turning to the lady. "It is my opinion that neither Beatrice nor
Percival realized what they were doing. Perhaps both are laboring under
some natural agitation in consequence as the matter seems to be fraught
with more serious results than they thought. You would better go to your
room, my daughter."