And there was Dorothy.  She went her own way more than ever, with the absolute conviction that it was the right way.  Nothing could turn her.  At thirteen her body was no longer obedient.  Dorothy was not going to be her mother’s companion, or her father’s, either; she was Rosalind Jervis’s companion.  She seemed to care more about little fat, fluffy Rosalind than about any of them except Nicky.  Dorothy was interested in Michael; she respected his queer thoughts.  It was as if she recognized some power in him that could beat her somewhere some day, and was humble before a thing her cleverness had failed to understand.  But it was Nicky that she adored, not Michael; and she was bad for Nicky.  She encouraged his naughtiness because it amused her.

Frances foresaw that a time would come, a little later, when Nicky and Dorothy would be companions, not Nicky and his mother.

In the evenings, coming home from the golf-links, Frances and Anthony discussed their children.

Frances said, “You can’t make any impression on Nicky.  There seems to be no way that you can get at him.”

Anthony thought there was a way.  It was a way he had not tried yet, that he did not want to try.  But, if he could only bring himself to it, he judged that he could make a distinct impression.

“What the young rascal wants is a thorough good spanking,” said Anthony.

Nicky said so too.

The first time he got it Nicky’s criticism was that it wasn’t a bad idea if his father could have pulled it off all right.  But he said, “It’s no good if you do it through the cloth.  And it’s no good unless you want to hurt me, Daddy.  And you don’t want.  And even if you did want, badly enough to try and hurt, supposing you spanked ever so hard, you couldn’t hurt as much as my earache.  And I can bear that.”

“He’s top dog again, you see,” said Frances, not without a secret satisfaction.

“Oh, is he?” said Anthony.  “I don’t propose to be downed by Nicky.”

Every instinct in him revolted against spanking Nicky.  But when Williams, the groom, showed him a graze on each knee of the pony he had bought for Frances and the children, Anthony determined that, this time, Nicky should have a serious spanking.

“Which of them took Roger out?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” said Williams.

But Anthony knew.  He lay in wait for Nicky by the door that led from the stable yard into the kitchen garden.

Nicky was in the strawberry bed.

“Was it you who took Roger out this afternoon?”

Nicky did not answer promptly.  His mouth was still full of strawberries.

“What if I did?” he said at last, after manifest reflection.

“If you did?  Why, you let him down on Golders Hill and cut his knees.”

“Holly Mount,” said Nicky.

“Holly Mount or Golders Hill, it’s all the same to you, you young monkey.”