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At the far end of the table sat Gwendolyn's father, pale in his black dress-clothes, and haggard-eyed; at the near end sat her mother, pink-cheeked and pretty, with jewels about her bare throat and in her fair hair. And between the two, filling the high-backed chairs on either side of the table, were strange men and women. Gwendolyn let go of Jane's hand and went toward her mother.
For her cap was different shaped like a sugar-bowl turned upside-down; hollow, and white, and marred by no flying strings. And she was not a red-haired nurse-maid. Her hair was almost as fair as Gwendolyn's own, and it framed her face in a score of saucy wisps and curls. Her face was pretty full and rosy, like the face of Gwendolyn's French doll.
About her slender figure, as it disappeared, dust mingled with the smoke mingled and swirled, funnel-like in shape, with a wide base and a narrow top, like the picture of a water-spout in the back of Gwendolyn's geography. The Piper came back, wiping his forehead. "What does she care about a poke!" he scolded, flinging himself down irritably. "Huh! All she thinks about is what They say!"
Jane flung the garment back into the wardrobe without troubling to hang it up, and banged the wardrobe door. But she did not again broach the subject of getting up. A hint of uneasiness betrayed itself in her manner. She took a chair by the bed. Gwendolyn's whole face was gradually taking on a deep flush, for those flaming spots on her cheeks were spreading to throat and temples to her very hair.
The walking was pleasant there by the stream-side. The fresh breeze caressed Gwendolyn's cheeks, and swirled her yellow hair about her shoulders. She took deep breaths, through nostrils swelled to their widest. "Oh, I like this place best in the whole, whole world!" she said earnestly. The next moment she knew why!
Then, making scared eyes, "What has that got to do," she demanded, "with the wicked men that keep watch of this house?" Gwendolyn swallowed. "What wicked men?" she questioned apprehensively. "Ah-ha!" triumphed Jane. "I thought that'd catch you! Now just let me ask you another question: Why are there bars on the basement windows?" Gwendolyn's lips parted to reply. But no words came.
She set the tray down and came to the bed-side. Gwendolyn's eyes were wide with wonder. "How how ?" she began. Her mother answered. "Jane called down to the Policeman, and he ran to the house on the corner." Now the dimples sprang into place, "Goody!" exclaimed Gwendolyn, and gave a little chuckle. Her mother went on: "We never can feel grateful enough to her, because she was such a help.
An interruption came in the shape of a ring at the telephone, which stood on the small table at the head of Gwendolyn's bed. Jane answered the summons, and received the message, a brief one. It worked, however, a noticeable change. For when Jane turned round her face was sullen. Gwendolyn remarked the scowls.
You might've told me about it; instead, just all of a sudden, you shove her off on my hands." Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed resentfully. Miss Royle gave a quick look toward the window-seat. "You mean you've made plans?" she asked, concern supplanting anger in her voice. To all appearances Jane was near to tears. She did not answer. She nodded dejectedly.
She kissed the smiling lips of the one, the laughing eyes of the other. The crescent of the Drive, never without its pageant; the broad river thronged with craft; the high forest-fringed precipice and the houses that could be glimpsed beyond all these played their part in Gwendolyn's pretend-games.
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