Instinctively Gwendolyn flattened herself against the wood-work at her back.
Three or four steps brought Thomas across the floor. Then his two big hands appeared high up on the hangings. The next moment, the hands parted, sweeping the curtains with them.
To escape detection was impossible. A quick thought made Gwendolyn raise a face upon which was a forced expression that bore only a faint resemblance to a smile.
"Boo!" she said, jumping out at him.
Startled, he fell back. "Why, Miss Gwendolyn!"
"Gwendolyn?" repeated her mother, surprised. "Why, what were you doing there, darling?"
"Gwendolyn!"—this in a faint gasp from both visitors.
Gwendolyn came slowly forward. She did not raise her eyes; only curtsied.
"So this is your little daughter!" A gloved hand was reached out, and Gwendolyn was drawn forward. "How cunning!"
Gwendolyn recognized the voice of Louise. Now, she looked up. And saw a pleasant face, young, but not so pretty as her mother's. She shook hands bashfully. Then shook again with an older woman, whose plain countenance was dimly familiar. After which, giving a sudden little bound, and putting up eager arms, she was caught to her mother.