The baby--of course a new baby--lay in a bassinette near its mother, seemingly asleep; the other child was sitting in a high chair by the table, clattering 'bricks.' Bessie did not even look round.
'Is Mr.Byass late ?' inquired Jane, in an apprehensive voice.
'He's somewhere in the house, I believe,' was the answer, in monotone.
'Oh dear!' Jane recognised a situation which had already come under her notice once or twice during the last six months She drew near, and asked in a low voice: 'What's happened, Mrs.Byass ?' 'He's a beast! If he doesn't mind I shall go and leave him.

I mean it!' Bessie was in a genuine fit of sullenness.

One of her hands was clenched below her chin; her pretty lips were not pretty at all; her brow was rumpled.

Jane began to seek for the cause of dissension, to put affectionate questions, to use her voice soothingly.
'He's a beast!' was Bessie's reiterated observation; but by degrees she added phrases more explanatory.

'How can I help it if he cuts himself when he's shaving ?--Serve him right!--What for?
Why, for saying that babies was nothing but a nuisance, and that _my_ baby was the ugliest and noisiest ever born!' 'Did she cry in the night ?' inquired Jane, with sympathy.
'Of course she did! Hasn't she a right to ?' 'And then Mr.Byass cut himself with his razor ?' 'Yes.