he was eating alone--alone, that is,
except for Thomas, who preserved a complete and stony silence. Miss
Royle had not returned. Jane had disappeared toward her room, grumbling
about never having a single evening to call her own.

But at seven cheer returned with the realization that Jane was not
getting ready the white-and-gold bed. Still in a very bad humor, and
touched up smartly by a fresh cap and a dainty apron, the nurse put
Gwendolyn into a rosebud-bordered mull frock and tied a white-satin bow
atop her yellow hair.

"Where am I going, Jane?" asked Gwendolyn. (She felt certain that this
was one of the nights when she was invited downstairs: She hoped--with a
throb in her throat that was like the beat of a heart--that the supper
just past was only afternoon tea, and that there was waiting for her at
the grown-up table--in view of her newly acquired year and dignity--_an
empty chair_.)

"You'll see soon enough," answered Jane, shortly.

Next, a new thought! Her father and mother had not seen her for two
whole days--not since she was six. "Wonder if I show I'm not taller,"
she mused under her breath.

At precisely fifteen minutes to eight Jane took her by the hand. And she
went down and down in the bronze cage, past the floor where were the
guest chambers, past the library floor, which was where her mother and
father lived, to the second floor of the great house. Here was the
music-room, spacious and splendid, and the dining-room. The doors of
this latter room were double. Before them the two halted.

Not only the pause at this entrance betrayed whereto they were bound,
but also Jane's manner. For the nurse was holding herself erect and
proper--shoulders back, chin in, heels together. Gwendolyn had often
noted that upon both Jane and Thomas her parents had a curious
stiffening effect.

The thought of that empty chair now forced itself uppermost. The gray
eyes darkened with sudden anxiety.

"Now, Gwendolyn" whispered Jane, leaning down, "put your best foot
forward." Her face had lost some of its accustomed color.

"But, Jane," whispered Gwendolyn back, "which _is_ my best foot?"

Jane gave the small hand she was holding an impatient shake. "Hush your
rubbishy questions," she commanded "We're goin' in!" She tapped one of
the doors gently.

Gwendolyn glanced down at her daintily slippered feet. With so little
time for reflecting, she could not decide which one she should put
forward. Both looked equally w