"I saw the p'liceman walking on his feet yesterday."
"Hush your silly talk!"
Gwendolyn hushed, her gray eyes wistful, her mouth drooping. The morning had been so peaceful. Now Jane had spoken the first rough word.
Peace returned with Miss Royle, who came in with the morning paper, dismissed Jane, and settled down in the upholstered chair, silver-rimmed spectacles on nose.
The brocade hangings of the front window were only partly drawn. Between them, Gwendolyn made out more of those fat sheep straying down the azure field of the sky. She lay very still and counted them; and, counting, slept, but restlessly, with eyes only half-shut and nervous starts.
Awakening at noon the listlessness was gone, and she felt stronger. Her eyes were bright, too. There was a faint color in cheeks and lips.
"Miss Royle!"
"Yes, darling?" The governess leaned forward attentively.
"I can understand why you call Thomas a footman. It's 'cause he runs around so much on his feet—"
"You're better," said Miss Royle. She turned her paper inside out.