"That was wrong—she shouldn't have done it. There are things a little girl can't understand." His eyes were on a level with her brimming ones.
The next moment—"Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! Oh, where's that child!" The voice was Jane's. She was pounding her way down the stairs.
Before Gwendolyn could put a finger to his lips to plead for silence, "Here, Jane," he called, and stood up once more.
Jane came in, puffing with her haste. "Oh, thank you, sir," she cried. "It give me such a turn, her stealin' off like that! Madam doesn't like her to be up late, as she well knows. And I'll be blamed for this, sir, though I take pains to follow out Madam's orders exact," She seized Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn, eyes dry now, and defiant, pulled back with all the strength of her slender arm. "Oh, fath-er!" she plead. "Oh, please, I don't want to go!"
"Why! Why! Why!" It was reproval; but tender reproval, mixed with mild amazement.
"Oh, I want to tell you something," cried Gwendolyn. "Let me stay just a minute."
"That's just the way she acts, sir, whenever it's bed-time," mourned Jane.
He leaned to lift Gwendolyn's chin gently. "Father thinks she'd better go now," he said quietly. "And she's not to worry her blessed baby head any more." Then he kissed her.
The kiss, the knowledge that strife was futile, the sadness of parting—these brought the great sobs. She went without resisting, but stumbling a little; the back of one hand was laid against her streaming eyes.