“She threw me kisses,” recounted Gwendolyn, crunching happily the while.  “And, oh, Jane, some day may I go over to the brick house?”

“Some day you may—­not.”

Gwendolyn recognized the sudden change to belligerence; and foreseeing a possible loss of the peanuts, commenced to eat more rapidly.  “Well, then,” she persisted, “she could come over here.”

Jane stared.  “What do you mean?” she demanded crossly.  “And don’t you go botherin’ your poor father and mother about this strange woman.  Do you hear?”

“But she takes care of a rich little girl.  I know—­’cause there are bars on the basement windows.  And Thomas says—­”

“Oh, come” broke in Thomas, urging Jane hallward with a nervous jerk of the head.

“Ah!” Now complete understanding brought Jane to her feet.  She fixed Thomas with blazing eyes.  “And what does Thomas say, darlin’?”

Thomas waited.  His ears were a dead white.

“There’s a Pomeranian at the brick house,” went on Gwendolyn, “and the pretty nurse takes it out to walk.  And—­”

“And Thomas is a-walkin’ our Poms at the same time.”  Jane was breathing hard.

“And he says she’s lots prettier close to—­”

A bell rang sharply.  Thomas sprang away.  With a gurgle, Jane flounced after.

The next moment Gwendolyn, from the hassock—­upon which she had settled in comfort—­heard a wrangle of voices:  First, Jane’s shrill accusing, “It was you put it into her head!—­to come—­and take my place from under me—­and the food out of my very mouth—­and break my hear-r-r-rt!” Next, Thomas’s sonorous, “Stuff and fiddle-sticks!” then sounds of lamentation, and the slamming of a door.

The last peanut was eaten.  As Gwendolyn searched out some few remaining bits from the crevices of the bag, she shook her yellow hair hopelessly.  Truly there was no fathoming grown-ups!

The morning which had begun so propitiously ended in gloom.  At the noon dinner, Thomas looked harassed.  He had set the table for one.  That single plate, as well as the empty arm-chair so popular with Jane, emphasized the infestivity.  As for the heavy curtains at the side window, which—­as near as Gwendolyn could puzzle it out—­were the cause of the late unpleasantness, these were closely drawn.

Having already eaten heartily, Gwendolyn had little appetite.  Furthermore, again she was turning over and over the direful statements made concerning her parents.  She employed the dinner-hour in formulating a plan that was simple but daring—­one that would bring quick enlightenment concerning the things that worried.  Miss Royle was still indisposed.  Jane was locked in her own room, from which issued an occasional low bellow.  When Thomas, too, was out of the way—­gone pantry-ward with tray held aloft—­she would carry it out.  It called for no great amount of time:  no searching of the dictionary.  She would close all doors softly; then fly to the telephone—­and call up her father.