Jane had finished. "Johnnie Blake! Johnnie Blake! Johnnie Blake!" she
mocked. She gave Gwendolyn a little push toward the front window. "Now,
no more of your nonsense. Go and be quiet for a few minutes. And keep a'
eye out, will you, to see that there's nobody layin' in wait for us out
in front?"

Gwendolyn went forward to the window-seat and climbed up among its
cushions. From there she looked down upon the Drive with its sloping,
evenly-cut grass, its smooth, tawny road and soft brown bridle-path, and
its curving walk, stone-walled on the outer side. Beyond park and road
and walk were tree-tops, bush-high above the wall. And beyond these was
the broad, slow-flowing river, with boats going to and fro upon its
shimmering surface. The farther side of the river was walled like the
walk, only the wall was a cliff, sheer and dark and timber-edged. And
through this timber could be seen the roofs and chimneys of distant
houses.

But Gwendolyn saw nothing of the beauty of the view. She did not even
glance down to where, on its pedestal, stood the great bronze war-horse,
its mane and tail flying, its neck arched, its lips curved to neigh.
Astride the horse was her friend, the General, soldierly, valorous, his
hat doffed--as if in silent greeting to the double procession of
vehicles and pedestrians that was passing before him. Brave he might be,
but what help was the General _now?_

When Jane was ready for the drive, Gwendolyn took a firm hold of one
thick thumb. And, with Thomas following, they were soon in the entrance
hall. There, waiting as usual, was Potter, the butler. He smiled at
Gwendolyn.