Miss Royle was also pale. "That will do!" she declared. "I shall report you to Madam."
"Report!" echoed Jane, giving a loud, harsh laugh, and shaking her hair—the huge pompadour in front, the pug behind. "Well, go ahead. And I'll report you—and your handy neuralgia."
"It's your duty to look after Gwendolyn when there are no lessons," reminded Miss Royle, but weakening noticeably.
"On week-days?" shrilled Jane. "Oh, don't try to fool me with any of your schemin'! I see. And I just laugh in my sleeve!"
Gwendolyn fixed inquiring gray eyes upon that sleeve of Jane's dress which was the nearer. It was of black sateen. It fitted the stout arm sleekly.
"This is the dear child's birthday, and I wish her to have the afternoon free."
"A-a-ah! Then why don't you take her out with you? You like the automobile nice enough,"—this sneeringly.
Miss Royle tossed her head. "I thought perhaps you'd be using the car," she answered, with fine sarcasm.
Jane began to argue, throwing out both hands: "How was I to know to-day was her birthday? You might've told me about it; instead, just all of a sudden, you shove her off on my hands."
Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed resentfully.