"But one day you said he was all ears, and—"
"Gwendolyn!" Miss Royle stared down over her glasses. "Never repeat what you hear me say, love. It's tattling, and tattling is ill-bred. Now, what can I give you?"
Gwendolyn wanted a drink of water.
When Thomas appeared with the dinner-tray, he gave an impressive wag of the head. "What do you think I've got for you?" he asked—while Miss Royle propped Gwendolyn to a sitting position.
Gwendolyn did not try to guess. She was not interested. She had no appetite.
Thomas brought forward a silver dish. "It's a bird!" he announced, and lifted the cover.
Gwendolyn looked.
It was a small bird, richly browned. A tiny sprig of parsley garnished it on either side. A ribbon of bacon lay in crisp flutings across it. Its short round legs were up-thrust. On the end of each was a paper frill.
"Don't it look delicious!" said Thomas warmly. "Don't it tempt!"
But Gwendolyn regarded it without enthusiasm. "What kind of a bird is it?" she asked.