"Yes. It was a little bottle."
"How much of it did Jane give you? Can you remember?"
"Well, first she poured out one teaspoonful—"
The Doctor had been leaning again on the foot of the white-and-gold bed. Now he fell back of a sudden. "A teaspoonful!" he gasped. And to Gwendolyn's father, "Why, that wretched girl didn't read the directions on the bottle!"
There was another silence. The two men stared at each other. But Gwendolyn's mother, her face paler than before, bent above the yellow head on the pillow.
"After I drank that teaspoonful," went on Gwendolyn, "Jane wouldn't believe me. And so she made me take the other."
"Another!"—it was the Doctor once more. He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead.
Her father rose angrily. "She shall be punished," he declared. And began to walk to and fro. "I won't let this pass."
Gwendolyn's look followed him tenderly. "Well, you see, she didn't know about—about nursery work," she explained. "'Cause before she came here she was just a cook."
"Oh, my baby daughter!" murmured Gwendolyn's mother, brokenly. She bent forward until her face was hidden against the silken cover of the bed. "Mother didn't know you were being neglected! She thought she was giving you the best of care, dear!"