The child left his bricks to bend over the tempting compound.

“I’ll give it you every bit to eat before nurse comes back,” continued the boy, “if you’ll eat this first.”

Reginald cast a look upon the powder his brother exhibited.  “What is it?” he lisped; “something good?”

“Delicious.  It’s just come in from the sweet-stuff shop.  Open your mouth—­wide.”

Reginald did as he was bid:  opened his mouth to its utmost width, and the boy shot in the powder.

It happened to be a preparation of that nauseous drug familiarly known as “Dover’s powder.”  The child found it so, and set up a succession of shrieks, which aroused the house.  The nurse rushed in; and Lord and Lady Hartledon, both of whom were dressing for dinner, appeared on the scene.  There stood Reginald, coughing, choking, and roaring; and there sat the culprit, equably devouring the jam.  With time and difficulty the facts were elicited from the younger child, and the elder scorned to deny them.

“What a wicked, greedy Turk you must be!” ejaculated the nurse, who was often in hot water with the elder boy.

“But Reginald need not have screamed so,” testily interposed Lord Hartledon.  “I thought one of them must be on fire.  You naughty child, why did you scream?” he continued, giving Reginald a slight tap on the ear.

“Any child would scream at being so taken by surprise,” said Lady Hartledon.  “It is Edward who is in fault, not Reginald; and it is he who deserves punishment.”

“And he should have it, if he were my son,” boldly declared the nurse, as she picked up the unhappy Reginald.  “A great greedy boy, to swallow down every bit of the jam, and never give his brother a taste, after poisoning him with that nasty powder!”

Edward rose, and gave the nurse a look of scorn.  “The powder’s good enough for him:  he is nothing but a young brat, and I am Lord Elster.”

Lady Hartledon felt provoked.  “What is that you say, Edward?” she asked, laying her hand upon his shoulder in reproval.

“Let me alone, mamma.  He’ll never be anything but Regy Elster. I shall be Lord Hartledon, and jam’s proper for me, and it’s fair I should put upon him.”

The nurse flounced off with Reginald, and Lady Hartledon turned to her husband.  “Is this to be suffered?  Will you allow it to pass without correction?”

“He means nothing,” said Val.  “Do you, Edward, my boy?”

“Yes, I do; I mean what I say.  I shall stand up for myself and Maude.”

Hartledon made no remonstrance:  only drew the boy to him, with a hasty gesture, as though he would shield him from anger and the world.

Anne, hurt almost to tears, quitted the room.  But she had scarcely reached her own when she remembered that she had left a diamond brooch in the nursery, which she had just been about to put into her dress when alarmed by the cries.  She went back for it, and stood almost confounded by what she saw.  Lord Hartledon, sitting down, had clasped his boy in his arms, and was sobbing over him; emotion such as man rarely betrays.