The little old gentleman warned her with one long finger. "You look out, young lady!" said he. "One of these days you'll laugh on the other side of your face." (Which made Gwendolyn wish that it was not impolite to correct those older than herself; for it was plain that he meant "you'll laugh on your other face.")
Jane put out a tongue-tip at him insolently. Then dancing near, "Come!" she bade Gwendolyn. "Come away with Nurse."
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces made no effort to interpose. But he wagged his head significantly. "It's evident, Miss Jane," said he, "that you've forgotten all about—the Piper."
She came short. And showed herself upset by what he had said, for she did a hop-schottische.
He was not slow to take advantage. "We're sure to see him shortly," he went on. "And when we do—! Because your account with him is adding up terrifically. You're dancing a good deal, you know."
"How can I help that?" demanded Jane. "Ain't I dancin' atten—"
Gwendolyn forgot to listen to the remainder of the sentence. All at once she was a little apprehensive on her own account—remembering how she had danced beside the soda-water, not half an hour before!
"Mr. Man-Who-Makes-Faces," she began timidly, "do you mean the Piper that everybody has to pay?"
"Exactly," replied the little old gentleman. "He's out collecting some pay for me now—from a dishonest fellow who didn't settle for two dozen ears that I boxed and sent him."
At that, Jane began tittering harder than ever (hysterically, this time), holding up her arm as before—and filling out two or three wrinkles in the black sateen! And Gwendolyn, watching closely, saw that while the front face of her nurse was all a-grin, the face on the back of her head wore a nervous expression. (Evidently that front face was not always to be depended upon!)