"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and he turned and opened it for Gwen.
Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked herself against the protruding wing of his book-shelves. That made the Warden vexed with somebody, the somebody who had made the child cry so much that she couldn't see where she was going. He closed the door behind her.
"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked. "Your mother is not ill?"
Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor, her lips twitching.
"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?" he asked.
"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the dark head.
"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to advise, help you?"
"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out with a shrill sob.
What was to be done?
"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what it is all about. If you need help—perhaps I can help you!"