Mrs. Hawthorne did not say anything else, but as is the common practice of parents who have disciplined their children, she left the rug-beater right beside the girl where she lay. Alone now, Belinda buried her face in her arms and cried bitterly. She thought over and over every major event of the evening. She regretted, and cried, over every glass of champaign she had drunk: she KNEW that if she was not drunk she would probably not even tried to "hit on" the dean as she did - certainly not infront of his wife! Belinda said to herself, through tears, "Autsch! I have the intelligence of a cow!" Then she thought about the shocked faces of her classmates and professors as she made her moves around the handsome man, who was yet old enough to be her father AND standing right beside his wife! She went over, what she now believed, was her well-earned bare bottom thrashing from Mrs. Hawthorne, and her rather nasty, unbecoming remarks for a lady of her station to make to a young girl. Belinda decidely said to herself, "I definitely did NOT deserve to be scolded in such a witchly manner by Lady Hawthorne! May she pay for them!" And Belinda began crying a little more loudly; however, this spell did not last long, and she thought of Lady Hawthorne's concern for her safety, and her decision to send the girl home in comfort. Belinda was seemingly "sobered-up" by Lady Hawthorne's thrashing, but after it was over the girls head began again to spend, and the thoughts she uttered aloud to herself were slurred; she was indeed still quite tipsy and clearly unfit to drive, and surely too unsteady on her feet to walk, not only from her drunken state but also from the thrashing she had gotten from Lady Hawthorne.

After lying on the bed for some time, her butt and the upper part of her legs burning and throbbing, Belinda decided it was time to get ready to go, to adjust her dress so that she was pesentable and to pull up her thong-panties. So she went to the mirror, but she also wanted to check the damage on her backside, So, her dress still bunched-up at her center, she saw that Lady Hawthorne had done her work well. There was not the slightest sign of blood, but wickedly-red welts covered her bottom, and there were a few marks on the back of her legs. Belinda was not crying now, but she was pained, ashamed and humiliated. She had a very unhappy appearance as she gazed at her afflicted backside.