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She sank, trembling, upon the seat of the limousine.

Jane followed her. Then Thomas closed the windowed door of the motor and took his place beside the chauffeur.

Gwendolyn leaned forward for a swift glance at the lower windows, barred against intruders. The great house was of stone. On side and rear it stood flat against other houses. But it was built on a corner; and along its front and outer side, the tops of the basement windows were set a foot or more above the level of the sidewalk. To Gwendolyn those windows were huge eyes, peering out at her from under heavy lashes of iron.

The automobile started. Jane arranged her skirts and leaned back luxuriously, her big hands folded on her lap.

“My! but ain’t this grand!” she exclaimed. Then to Gwendolyn: “You don’t mind, do you, dearie, if Jane has a taste of gum as we go along?”

Gwendolyn did not reply. She had not heard. She was leaning toward the little window on her side of the limousine. In front of Jane was the chauffeur, wide-backed and skillful, and crouched vigilantly over his wheel. But in front of her was Thomas, sitting in the proudly erect, stiff position peculiar to him whenever he fared abroad. He looked neither to right nor left. He seemed indifferent that danger lurked for her along the Drive.

But she—! As the limousine joined others, all speeding forward merrily, her pale little face was pressed against the shield-shaped pane of glass, her frightened eyes roved continually, searching the moving crowds.

CHAPTER II

The nursery was on the top-most floor of the great stone house—this for sunshine and air. But the sunshine was gone when Gwendolyn returned from her drive, and a half-dozen silk-shaded lights threw a soft glow over the room. To shut out the chill of the spring evening the windows were down. Across them were drawn the heavy hangings of rose brocade.

There was a lamp on the larger of the nursery tables, a tall lamp, almost flower-like with its petal-shaped ruffles of lace and chiffon. It made conspicuous two packages that flanked it—one small and square; the other large, and as round as a hat-box. Each was wrapped in white paper and tied with red string.

“Birthday presents!” cried Jane, the moment she spied them; and sprang forward. “Oh, I wonder what they are! What do you guess, Gwendolyn?”

Gwendolyn followed slowly, blinking against the light. “I can’t guess,” she said without enthusiasm. The glass-fronted case was full of toys, none of which she particularly cherished. (Indeed, most of them were carefully wrapped from sight.) New ones would merely form an addition.

“Well, what would you like?” queried Jane, catching up the small package and shaking it.

Gwendolyn suddenly looked very earnest.

“Most in the whole world?” she asked.

“Yes, what?” Jane dropped the small package and shook the large one.

“In the whole, whole big world?” went on Gwendolyn—to herself rather than to her nurse. She was not looking at the table, but toward a curtained window, and the gray eyes had a tender faraway expression. There was a faint conventional pattern in the brocade of the heavy hangings. It suggested trees with graceful down-growing boughs. She clasped her hands. “I want to live out in the woods,” she said, “at Johnnie Blake’s cottage by the stream that’s got fish in it.”

Jane set the big package down with a thump. “That’s awful selfish of you,” she declared warmly. “For you know right well that Thomas and I wouldn’t like to leave the city and live away out in the country. Would we, Thomas?”—for he had just entered.

“Cer-tain-ly not,” said Thomas.

“And it’d give poor Miss Royle the neuralgia,” (Jane and Miss Royle might contend with each other; they made common cause against her.)

“But none of you’d have to” assured Gwendolyn. “When I was at Johnnie Blake’s that once, just Potter went, and Rosa, and Cook. And Rosa buttoned my dresses and gave me my bath, and—”

“So Rosa’ll do just as well as me,” interrupted Jane, jealously.

“—And Potter passed the dishes at table,” resumed Gwendolyn, ignoring the remark; “and he never hurried the best-tasting ones.”

“Hear that will you, Thomas!” cried Jane. “Mr. Potter never hurried the best-tastin’ ones!”

Thomas gave her a significant stare. “I tell you, a certain person is growin’ keen,” he said in a low voice.