It was a face that Gwendolyn had never seen before in the brick house. But though it was strange, it was entirely friendly. For as Gwendolyn smiled it a greeting, it smiled her a greeting back!
She was a nurse-maid—so much was evident from the fact that she wore a cap. But it was also plain that her duties differed in some way from Jane's. For her cap was different—shaped like a sugar-bowl turned upside-down; hollow, and white, and marred by no flying strings.
And she was not a red-haired nurse-maid. Her hair was almost as fair as Gwendolyn's own, and it framed her face in a score of saucy wisps and curls. Her face was pretty—full and rosy, like the face of Gwendolyn's French doll. Also it seemed certain—even at such a distance—that she had no freckles. Gwendolyn waved both hands at her. She threw a kiss back.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Gwendolyn, out loud. She threw kisses with alternating finger-tips.
The nurse-maid shook the curtains at her. Then—they fell into place. She was gone.
Gwendolyn sighed.
The next moment she heard voices in the direction of the hall—first, Thomas's; next, a woman's—a strange one this. Disappointed, she turned to face the screening curtains. But she was in no mood to make herself agreeable to visiting friends of Miss Royle's—and who else could this be?
She decided to remain quietly in seclusion; to emerge for no one except her mother.
A door opened. A heavy step advanced, followed by the murmur of trailing skirts upon carpet. Then Thomas spoke—his tone that full and measured one employed, not to the governess, to Jane, to herself, or to any other common mortal, but to Potter, to her father and mother, and to guests. "This is Miss Gwendolyn's nursery," he announced.
Beyond the curtains were persons of importance!