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That moment, Jane entered, fairly darting in.

“Here!” she called sharply to Gwendolyn. “What’re you eatin’?”

“Peanuts, Jane,”—perfect frankness being the rule when concealment was not possible.

Jane came over. “And where’d you git ’em?” she demanded, promptly seizing the bag as contraband.

“Thomas.”

Sudden suspicion flamed in Jane’s red glance. “Oh, you must’ve did Thomas a grand turn,” she observed.

Thomas shifted from foot to foot. “I was—er—um—just tellin’ Miss Gwendolyn”—he winked significantly—”that she wouldn’t like to lose us.”

“So?” said Jane, still sceptical. Then to Gwendolyn, after a moment’s reflection. “Let me close up your dictionary for you, pettie. Jane never likes to see one of your fine books lyin’ open that way. It might put a strain on the back.”

Emboldened by that cooing tone, Gwendolyn eyed the Manila bag covetously. “I didn’t eat many,” she asserted, gently argumentative.

“Oh, a peanut or two won’t hurt you, lovie,” answered Jane, kneeling to present the bag. Then drawing the pink-frocked figure close, “And you didn’t tell him what them two ladies had to say?”

“No.” It was decisive, “I told him about—”

“I didn’t ask her,” interrupted Thomas. “No; I talked about how she loves us. And a-course, she does…. Jane, ain’t it near twelve?”

But Gwendolyn had no mind to be held as a tattler. “I told him,” she continued, husking peanuts busily, “about the nurse-maid at the brick house.”

Jane sat back.

“Ah?” She flashed a glance at Thomas, still shifting about uneasily mid-way between table and door. Then, “What about the nurse-maid, dearie?”

It was Gwendolyn’s turn to wax enthusiastic. “Oh, she has such sweet hair!” she exclaimed. “And she smiles nice!”

Jealousy hardened the freckled visage of the kneeling Jane. “And she’s taken with you, I suppose,” said she.

“She threw me kisses,” recounted Gwendolyn, crunching happily the while. “And, oh, Jane, some day may I go over to the brick house?”

“Some day you may—not.”

Gwendolyn recognized the sudden change to belligerence; and foreseeing a possible loss of the peanuts, commenced to eat more rapidly. “Well, then,” she persisted, “she could come over here.”

Jane stared. “What do you mean?” she demanded crossly. “And don’t you go botherin’ your poor father and mother about this strange woman. Do you hear?“

“But she takes care of a rich little girl. I know—’cause there are bars on the basement windows. And Thomas says—”

“Oh, come” broke in Thomas, urging Jane hallward with a nervous jerk of the head.

“Ah!” Now complete understanding brought Jane to her feet. She fixed Thomas with blazing eyes. “And what does Thomas say, darlin’?”

Thomas waited. His ears were a dead white.

“There’s a Pomeranian at the brick house,” went on Gwendolyn, “and the pretty nurse takes it out to walk. And—”

“And Thomas is a-walkin’ our Poms at the same time.” Jane was breathing hard.

“And he says she’s lots prettier close to—”

A bell rang sharply. Thomas sprang away. With a gurgle, Jane flounced after.

The next moment Gwendolyn, from the hassock—upon which she had settled in comfort—heard a wrangle of voices: First, Jane’s shrill accusing, “It was you put it into her head!—to come—and take my place from under me—and the food out of my very mouth—and break my hear-r-r-rt!” Next, Thomas’s sonorous, “Stuff and fiddle-sticks!” then sounds of lamentation, and the slamming of a door.

The last peanut was eaten. As Gwendolyn searched out some few remaining bits from the crevices of the bag, she shook her yellow hair hopelessly. Truly there was no fathoming grown-ups!

The morning which had begun so propitiously ended in gloom. At the noon dinner, Thomas looked harassed. He had set the table for one. That single plate, as well as the empty arm-chair so popular with Jane, emphasized the infestivity. As for the heavy curtains at the side window, which—as near as Gwendolyn could puzzle it out—were the cause of the late unpleasantness, these were closely drawn.

Having already eaten heartily, Gwendolyn had little appetite. Furthermore, again she was turning over and over the direful statements made concerning her parents. She employed the dinner-hour in formulating a plan that was simple but daring—one that would bring quick enlightenment concerning the things that worried. Miss Royle was still indisposed. Jane was locked in her own room, from which issued an occasional low bellow. When Thomas, too, was out of the way—gone pantry-ward with tray held aloft—she would carry it out. It called for no great amount of time: no searching of the dictionary. She would close all doors softly; then fly to the telephone—and call up her father.