Robert—[With sudden anger.] Leave her alone! How often have I told you not to threaten her with whipping? It’s barbarous, and I won’t have it. That’s got to be understood. [Soothing the wailing Mary.] There! There, little girl! Baby mustn’t cry. Dada won’t like you if you do. Dada’ll hold you and you must promise to go to sleep like a good little girl. Will you when Dada asks you?
Mary—[Cuddling up to him.] Yes, Dada.
Ruth—[Looking at them, her pale face set and drawn.] I won’t be ordered by you! She’s my child as much as yours. A fine one you are to be telling folks how to do things, you [She bites her lips. Husband and wife look into each other’s eyes with something akin to hatred in their expressions; then Ruth turns away with a shrug of affected indifference.] All right, take care of her then, if you think it’s so easy. You’ll be whipping her yourself inside of a week. [She walks away into the kitchen.]
Robert—[Smoothing Mary’s hair—tenderly.] We’ll show Mama you’re a good little girl, won’t we?
Mary—[Crooning drowsily.] Dada, Dada.
Robert—Let’s see: Does your mother take off your shoes and stockings before your nap?
Mary—[Nodding with half-shut eyes.] Yes, Dada.
Robert—[Taking off her shoes and stockings.] We’ll show Mama we know how to do those things, won’t we? There’s one old shoe off—and there’s the other old shoe—and here’s one old stocking—and there’s the other old stocking. There we are, all nice
