"I wish you were lunching here," said Gwendolyn's mother. She freed herself gently from the clinging arms and followed the two. "Miss Royle, will you take Gwendolyn?"
As the governess promptly advanced, with a half-bow, and a set smile that was like a grimace, Gwendolyn raised a face tense with earnestness. Until half an hour before, her whole concern had been for herself. But now! To fail to grow up, to have her long-cherished hopes come short of fulfillment—that was one thing. To know that her mother and father had real and serious troubles of their own, that was another!
"Oh, moth-er! Don't you go!"
"Mother must tell the ladies good-by."
"What touching affection!" It was the elder of the visiting pair.
Miss Royle assented with a simper.
"Will you come back?" urged Gwendolyn, dropping her voice. "Oh, I want to see you"—darting a look sidewise—"all by myself."
There was a wheel and a flutter at the door—another silent exchange of comment, question and exclamation, all mingled eloquently. Then Louise swept back.
"What a bright child!" she enthused. "Does she speak French?"
"She is acquiring two tongues at present," answered Gwendolyn's mother proudly, "—French and German."