It was noon.  And Miss Royle was having her dinner.  Her face, usually so pale, was dark with anger—­held well in check.  Her expression was that of one who had recently suffered a scare, and her faded eyes shifted here and there uneasily.  Thomas, too, looked apprehensive as he moved between table and tray.  Jane was just gone, showing, as she disappeared, lips nervously pursed, and a red, roving glance that betokened worry.

Gwendolyn, watching out from under the arm that rested across her forehead, realized how her last night’s breach of authority had impressed each one of them.  And secretly rejoicing at her triumph, she kept up a brisk tattoo.

Miss Royle ignored her.  “I’ll take a little more chocolate, Thomas,” she said, with a fair semblance of calm.  But cup and saucer rattled in her hand.

Thomas, too, feigned indifference to the rat! tat! tat! of heels.  He bent above the table attentively.  And to Gwendolyn was wafted down a sweet aroma.

“Thank you,” said Miss Royle.  “And cake, too? Splendid!  How did you manage it?” A knife-edge cut against china.  She helped herself generously.

Gwendolyn fell silent to listen.

“Well, I haven’t Mr. Potter to thank,” said Thomas, warmly; “only my own forethoughtedness, as you might say.  The first time I ever set eyes on it I seen it was the kind that’d keep, so—­”

From under the shielding arm Gwendolyn blinked with indignation. Her birthday cake!

“Say, Miss Royle,” chuckled Thomas, replenishing the chocolate cup, “that was a’ awful whack you give Miss J—­last night.”

At once Gwendolyn forgot the wrong put upon her in the matter of the cake—­in astonishment at this new turn of affairs.  Evidently Miss Royle and Thomas were leagued against Jane!

The governess nodded importantly, “She was only a cook before she came here,” she declared contemptuously.  “Down at the Employment Agency, where Madam got her, they said so.  The common, two-faced thing!” This last was said with much vindictiveness.  Following it, she proffered Thomas the cake-plate.

“Thanks,” said he; “I don’t mind if I do have a slice.”

Now, of a sudden, wrath and resentment possessed Gwendolyn, sweeping her like a wave—­at seeing her cake portioned out; at having her kicking ignored; at hearing these two openly abuse Jane.

“I want some strawberries,” she stormed, pounding the rug full force.  “And an egg.  I won’t eat dry bread!” Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

Miss Royle half-turned.  “Did you ask to go down to the library?” she inquired.  She seemed totally undisturbed; yet her eyes glittered.

“Did she ask?” snorted Thomas.  “She’s gettin’ very forward, she is.”

“No, you knew better,” went on Miss Royle.  “You knew I wouldn’t permit you to bother your father when he didn’t want you—­”

“He did want me!”—­choking with a sob.