ndolyn suddenly remembered the cruel truth borne out by the ink-line
on the pier-glass. And instead of climbing upon the table, she went to
stand in front of her writing-desk.

"I was seven my last birthday," she murmured, looking up at the
rose-embossed calendar.

Seven, and grown-up--and yet everything was just the same!

She went to the front window and knelt on the cushioned seat. Across the
river red smoke was pouring up from those chimneys on the water's edge
that were assuredly a mile high. Red smoke meant that evening was
approaching. Jane would enter soon. With two in the nursery, the
advantage was for her who did not have to make the overtures of peace.
She turned her back to the room.

Jane came. She drew the heavy curtains at the side window and busied
herself in the vicinity of the bed, moving about quietly, saying not a
word. Presently she went out.

Gwendolyn faced round. The bed was arranged for the night. At its head,
on the small table, was a glass of milk, a sandwich, a cup of broth, a
plate of cooked fruit.

The western sky faded--to gray, to deep blue, to jade. The river flowed
jade beneath. Along it the lights sprang up. Then came the stars.

Gwendolyn worked at the buttons of her slippers. The tears were falling
again; but not tears of anger or resentment--only of loneliness, of
yearning.

The little white-and-blue frock fastened down the front. She undid it,
weeping softly the while, found her night-dress, put it on and climbed
into bed.

The food was close at hand. She did not touch it. She was not hungry,
only worn with her day-long combat. She lay back among the pillows. And
as she looked up at the stars, each sent out gay little flashes of light
to every side.

"Oh, moth-er!" she mourned. "Everybody hates me! Everybody hates me!"

Then came a comforting thought: She would play the Dearest Pretend!

It was easy to make believe that a girlish figure was seated in the dark
beside the bed; that a tender face was bending down, a gentle hand
touching the troubled forehead, stroking the tangled hair.

"Oh, I want you all the time, moth-er!... And I want _you_, my precious
baby.... How much do you love me, moth-er?... Love you?--oh, big as the
sky!... Dear moth-er, may I eat at the grown-up table?... All the time,
sweetheart.... Goody! And we'll just let Miss Royle eat with Jane
and--"

She caught a stealthy _rustle! rustle! rustle!_ from the direction of
the hall. She spoke more lo