A bell rang sharply. Thomas sprang away. With a gurgle, Jane flounced after.
The next moment Gwendolyn, from the hassock—upon which she had settled in comfort—heard a wrangle of voices: First, Jane's shrill accusing, "It was you put it into her head!—to come—and take my place from under me—and the food out of my very mouth—and break my hear-r-r-rt!" Next, Thomas's sonorous, "Stuff and fiddle-sticks!" then sounds of lamentation, and the slamming of a door.
The last peanut was eaten. As Gwendolyn searched out some few remaining bits from the crevices of the bag, she shook her yellow hair hopelessly. Truly there was no fathoming grown-ups!
The morning which had begun so propitiously ended in gloom. At the noon dinner, Thomas looked harassed. He had set the table for one. That single plate, as well as the empty arm-chair so popular with Jane, emphasized the infestivity. As for the heavy curtains at the side window, which—as near as Gwendolyn could puzzle it out—were the cause of the late unpleasantness, these were closely drawn.
Having already eaten heartily, Gwendolyn had little appetite. Furthermore, again she was turning over and over the direful statements made concerning her parents. She employed the dinner-hour in formulating a plan that was simple but daring—one that would bring quick enlightenment concerning the things that worried. Miss Royle was still indisposed. Jane was locked in her own room, from which issued an occasional low bellow. When Thomas, too, was out of the way—gone pantry-ward with tray held aloft—she would carry it out. It called for no great amount of time: no searching of the dictionary. She would close all doors softly; then fly to the telephone—and call up her father.
There were times when Thomas—as well as the two others—seemed to possess the power of divination. And during the whole of the dinner his manner showed distinct apprehension. The meal concluded, even to the use of the finger-bowl, and all dishes disposed upon the tray, he hung about, puttering with the table, picking up crumbs and pins, dusting this article and that with a napkin,—all the while working his lips with silent speech, and drawing down and lifting his black eye-brows menacingly.
Meanwhile, Gwendolyn fretted. But found some small diversion in standing before the pier glass, at which, between the shining rows of her teeth, she thrust out a tip of scarlet. She was thinking about the discussion anent tongues held by her mother and the two visitors.
"Seven," she murmured, and viewed the greater part of her own tongue thoughtfully; "seven."
The afternoon was a French-and-music afternoon. Directly after dinner might be expected the Gallic teacher—undesired at any hour. Thomas puttered and frowned until a light tap announced her arrival. Then quickly handed Gwendolyn over to her company.
Mademoiselle Du Bois was short and spare. And these defects she emphasized by means of a wide hat and a long feather boa. She led Gwendolyn to the school-room. There she settled down in a low chair, opened a black reticule, took out a thick, closely written letter, and fell to reading.