the question. Evidently this, like many another propounded to
Jane or Miss Royle; to Thomas; to her music-teacher, Miss Brown; to
Mademoiselle Du Bois, her French teacher; and to her teacher of German,
was one that was meant to remain a secret of the grown-ups.

Jane, having unbuttoned the riding-coat, pulled at the small black
boots. She was also talking to herself, for her lips moved.

The moment Gwendolyn caught sight of her unshod feet, she had a new
idea--the securing of a long-denied privilege by urging the occasion.
"Oh, Jane," she cried. "May I go barefoot?--just for a _little_ while. I
want to." Jane stripped off the cobwebby stockings. Gwendolyn wriggled
her ten pink toes. "May I, Jane?"

"You can go barefoot to _bed_," said Jane.

Gwendolyn's bed stood midway of the nursery, partly hidden by a high
tapestried screen. It was a beautiful bed, carved and enamelled, and
panelled--head and foot--with woven cane. But to Gwendolyn it was, by
day, a white instrument of torture. She gave it a glance of disfavor
now, and refrained from pursuing her idea.

When the muslin dress was donned, and a pink satin hair-bow replaced the
black one that bobbed on Gwendolyn's head when she rode, she returned to
the window and sat down. The seat was deep, and her shiny patent-leather
slippers stuck straight out in front of her. In one hand she held a
fresh handkerchief. She nibbled at it thoughtfully. She was still
wondering about "They."

Thomas looked cross when he came in to serve her noon dinner. He
arranged the table with a jerk and a bang.

"So old Royle up and outed, did she?" he said to Jane.

"Hush!" counseled Jane, significantly, and rolled her eyes in the
direction of the window-seat.

Gwendolyn stopped nibbling her handkerchief.

"And our plans is spoiled," went on Thomas. "Well, ain't that our luck!
And I suppose you couldn't manage to leave a certain party--"

Gwendolyn had been watching Thomas. Now she fell to observing the silver
buckles on her slippers. She might not know who "They" were. But "a
certain party"--

"Leave?" repeated Jane, "Who with? Not alone, surely you don't mean. For
something's gone wrong already to-day, as you'll see if you'll use your
eyes. And a fuss or a howl'd mean that somebody'd hear, and tattle to
the Madam, and--"

Thomas said something under his breath.

"So we can't go after all," resumed Jane; "--leastways not like we'd
counted on. And it's _too_ exasperatin'. Here I a