The sight halted Gwendolyn, and filled her with misgivings. Had Jane just heard?
When it came time to prepare for the afternoon motor-ride, Gwendolyn tested the matter—yet without repeating Miss Royle's dire statement.
"Let's go past where my fath-er's office is to-day," she proposed. And tried to smile.
Jane was tucking a small hand through a coat-sleeve. "Well, dearie," she answered, with a sigh and a shake of her red head, "you couldn't hire me to go into that street. And I wouldn't like to see you go."
Gwendolyn paled. "Bears?" she asked. "Truly?"
Jane made big eyes. Then turning the slender little figure carefully about, "Gwendolyn, lovie, Jane thinks you'd better give the idear up."
So it was true! Jane—who was happiest when standing in opposition to others; who was certain to differ if a difference was possible—Jane had borne it out!
Moreover, she was frightened! For Gwendolyn was leaning against the nurse. And she could feel her shaking!
Oh, how one terrible thing followed another!
Gwendolyn felt utterly cast down. And the ride in the swift-flying car only increased her dejection. For she did not even have the entertainment afforded by Thomas's enlivening company. He stayed beside the chauffeur—as he had, indeed, ever since the memorable feast of peanuts—and avoided turning his haughty black head. Jane was morose. Now and then, for no apparent reason, she sniffled.