"And you're splashin' water on the table-cloth. Look at you!"
"So," went on Gwendolyn, "I'm going to walk. I haven't walked for a whole, whole week."
"You can lean back in the car," began Jane enthusiastically, "and pretend you're a grand little Queen!"
"I don't want to be a Queen. I want to walk.
"Rich little girls don't hike along the streets like common poor little girls," informed Jane.
"I don't want to be a rich little girl,"—voice shrill with determination.
Jane went to shake her frilled apron into the gilded waste-basket beside Gwendolyn's writing-desk. "You can telephone any time now, Thomas," she said calmly.
Gwendolyn turned upon Thomas. "But I don't want to be shut up in the car this afternoon," she cried. "And I won't! I won't! I WON'T!"
Jane gave a gasp of smothered rage. The reddish eyes blazed. "Do you want me to send for a great black bear?" she demanded.
At that Gwendolyn quailed. "No-o-o!"