y. So, while Miss Royle picked at a chop and tittered over
copious draughts of tea, and Thomas chattered unrebuked, she ate her
supper in silence.

Ordinarily she rebelled at being undressed. She was not sleepy. Or she
wanted to watch the Drive. Or she did not believe it was seven--there
was something wrong with the clock. But supper over, and seven o'clock
on the strike, she went willingly to bed.

When Gwendolyn was under the covers, and all the shades were down, Jane
stepped into the school-room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She
snapped on the lights above the school-room table. Then Gwendolyn heard
the crackling of a news-paper.

She lay thinking. Why had she not been asked to the great dining-room?
At seven her father--if all were well--should be sitting down to his
dinner. But was he ill to-night? or hurt?

A half-hour dragged past. Jane left her paper and tiptoed into the
nursery. Gwendolyn did not speak or move. When the nurse approached the
bed and looked down, Gwendolyn shut her eyes.

Jane tiptoed out, closing the door behind her. A moment later Gwendolyn
heard another door open and shut, then the rumble of a man's deep
voice, and the shriller tones of a woman.

The chorus of indistinct voices made Gwendolyn sleepy. She found her
eyelids drooping in spite of herself. That would never do! To keep
herself awake, she got up cautiously, put on her slippers and
dressing-gown, stole to the front window, climbed upon the long seat,
and drew aside the shade--softly.

The night was moonless. Clouds hid the stars. The street lamps disclosed
the crescent of the Drive only dimly. Beyond the Drive the river
stretched like a smooth wide ribbon of black satin. It undulated gently.
Upon the dark water of the farther edge a procession of lights laid a
fringe of gold.

There were other lights--where, beyond the precipice, stood the forest
houses; where moored boats rocked at a landing-place up-stream; and on
boats that were plying past. A few lights made star-spots on the
cliff-side.

But most brilliant of all were those forming the monster letters of
words. These words Gwendolyn did not pronounce. For Miss Royle, whenever
she chanced to look out and see them, said "Shameful!" or "What a
disgrace!" or "Abominable!" And Gwendolyn guessed that the words were
wicked.

As she knelt, peering out, sounds from city and river came up to her.
There was the distant roll of street-cars, the warning; _honk! honk!_ of
an a