heeks and lips.

"Miss Royle!"

"Yes, darling?" The governess leaned forward attentively.

"I can understand why you call Thomas a footman. It's 'cause he runs
around so much on his feet--"

"You're better," said Miss Royle. She turned her paper inside out.

"But one day you said he was all ears, and--"

"Gwendolyn!" Miss Royle stared down over her glasses. "Never repeat what
you hear me say, love. It's tattling, and tattling is ill-bred. Now,
what can I give you?"

Gwendolyn wanted a drink of water.

When Thomas appeared with the dinner-tray, he gave an impressive wag of
the head. "_What_ do you think I've got for you?" he asked--while Miss
Royle propped Gwendolyn to a sitting position.

Gwendolyn did not try to guess. She was not interested. She had no
appetite.

Thomas brought forward a silver dish. "It's a bird!" he announced, and
lifted the cover.

Gwendolyn looked.

It was a small bird, richly browned. A tiny sprig of parsley garnished
it on either side. A ribbon of bacon lay in crisp flutings across it.
Its short round legs were up-thrust. On the end of each was a paper
frill.

"_Don't_ it look delicious!" said Thomas warmly. "Don't it tempt!"

But Gwendolyn regarded it without enthusiasm. "What kind of a bird is
it?" she asked.

Thomas displayed a second dish--Bermuda potatoes the size of her own
small fist. "Who knows?" said he. "It might be a robin, it might be a
plover, it might be a quail."

"It might be a--a talking-bird," said Gwendolyn. She poked the bird with
a fork.

"Not likely," declared Thomas.

Gwendolyn turned away.

"Ain't it to your likin'?" asked Thomas, surprised. He did not take the
plate at once, in his usual fashion.

"I--I don't want anything," she declared.

"Oh, but maybe you'd fancy an egg."

Gwendolyn took a glass of water.

"It's just as well," said Miss Royle. When she resigned her place
presently, she talked to Jane in undertones,--so that Gwendolyn could
hear only disconnectedly: "...Think it would be the safest thing ...
she gets any worse.... Never do, Jane ... find out by themselves.... She
won't be home till late to-night ... some grand affair. But he ...
though of course I'm sorry to have to."

The moment Miss Royle was well away, Jane had a plan. "_I_ think you're
gittin' on so fine that you can hop up and dress," she declared, noting
how the gray eyes sparkled, and how pink were the round spots on
Gwendolyn's cheeks.

Gwendolyn had nothing