thank you!" cried Gwendolyn, out loud. She threw kisses with
alternating finger-tips.

The nurse-maid shook the curtains at her. Then--they fell into place.
She was gone.

Gwendolyn sighed.

The next moment she heard voices in the direction of the hall--first,
Thomas's; next, a woman's--a strange one this. Disappointed, she turned
to face the screening curtains. But she was in no mood to make herself
agreeable to visiting friends of Miss Royle's--and who else could this
be?

She decided to remain quietly in seclusion; to emerge for no one except
her mother.

A door opened. A heavy step advanced, followed by the murmur of trailing
skirts upon carpet. Then Thomas spoke--his tone that full and measured
one employed, not to the governess, to Jane, to herself, or to any other
common mortal, but to Potter, to her father and mother, and to guests.
"This is Miss Gwendolyn's nursery," he announced.

Beyond the curtains were persons of importance!

She shrank against the window, taking care not to stir the brocade.

"We will wait here,"--the voice was clear, musical.

"Thank you." Thomas's heavy step retreated. A door closed.

There was a moment of perfect stillness. Then that musical voice began
again:

"Where do you suppose that young one is?"

A second voice rippled out a low laugh.

Gwendolyn laughed too,--silently, her face against the glass. The fat
old gentleman in the gray-haired house chanced to be looking in her
direction. He caught the broad smile and joined in.

"In the school-room likely,"--it was the first speaker, answering her
own inquiry--"getting stuffed."

Stuffed! Gwendolyn could appreciate _that_. She choked back a giggle
with one small hand.

Someone else thought the declaration amusing, for there was another
well-bred ripple; then once more that murmur of trailing skirts, going
toward the window-seat; going the opposite way also, as if one of the
two was making a circuit of the room.

Presently, "Just look at this dressing-table, Louise! Fancy such a piece
of furniture for a _child!_ Ridiculous!"

Gwendolyn cocked her yellow head to one side--after the manner of her
canary.

"Bad taste." Louise joined her companion. "_Crystal_, if you please!
Must've cost a fabulous sum."

One or two articles were moved on the dresser. Then, "Poor little girl!"
observed the other woman. "Rich, but--"

Gwendolyn puckered her brows gravely. Was the speaker referring to
_her?_ Clasping her hands t