seen at the dinner-table often.) He slipped a hand into a pocket.
When it came forth, it held an oblong box. "I didn't forget that this
was your birthday," he half-whispered. "Here!"--as he laid the box upon
Gwendolyn's pink palm--"that's for your sweet tooth!"

Everyone was watching, the ladies beaming, the men intent and amused.
But Gwendolyn was unaware both of the silence and the scrutiny. She
glanced at the box. Then she looked up into the friendly eyes of the
donor.

"But," she began; "--but which _is_ my sweet tooth?"

There was a burst of laughter, Gwendolyn's father and mother joining in.
The man who had presented the box laughed heartiest of all; then rose.

First he bowed to her mother, who acknowledged his salute graciously;
next he turned to her father, whose pale face softened; last of all, he
addressed her:

"Miss Gwendolyn," said he, "a toast!"

Gwendolyn looked at those bread-plates which were nearest her. There was
no toast in sight, only some very nice dinner-rolls. Moreover, Potter
and Thomas were not starting for the pantry, but were standing, the one
behind her mother, the other behind her father, quietly listening. And
what this friend of her father's had in his right hand was not anything
to eat, but a delicate-stemmed glass wherein some champagne was
bubbling--like amber soda-water. She was forced to conclude that he was
unaccountably stupid--or only queer--or else indulging in another of
those incomprehensible grown-up jokes.

He made a little speech--which she could not understand, but which
elicited much laughter and polite applause; though to her it did not
seem brilliant, or even interesting. Reseating himself, he patted her
head.

She put the candy under her left arm, said a hasty, half-whispered
Thank-you to him, went to the next high-backed chair, curtsied, bobbed
the ribbon-bow and put out a hand. A pat on the head was dismissal:
There was no need to wait for an answer to her question concerning her
sweet tooth. Experience had taught her that whenever mirth greeted an
inquiry, that inquiry was ignored.

When one whole side of the table was finished, and she turned a second
corner, her father brushed her soft cheek with his lips.

"Did your dolls like the merry-go-round?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, fath--er."

"Was there something else my little girl wanted?"

Now she raised herself so far on her toes that her lips were close to
his ear. For there was a lady on either side