in a room lighted only by a shaft of pale moonlight that fell in a
pool upon the polished floor that these two utterly inexperienced
children sat knee to knee, the one to pour out her story, the other
to listen and hold his breath.

"I was right about Gleave. He was spying. It turns out that he's
been watching us for two or three days. When I went back this
afternoon, I got a look from Mrs. Nye that told me there was a row
in the air. I was later than usual and rushed up to my room to
change for dinner. The whole house seemed awfully quiet and ominous,
like the air before a thunderstorm. I expected to be sent for at
once to stand like a criminal before Grandfather and Grandmother--
but nothing happened. All through dinner, while Gleave tottered
about, they sat facing each other at the long table, conducting,--
that's the only word to describe it,--a polite conversation. Neither
of them took any notice of me or even once looked my way. Even
Gleave put things in front of me as though he didn't see me, and
when I caught the watery eyes of the old dogs, they both seemed to
make faces and go 'Yah!'"

"It was weird, and would have been frightfully funny if I hadn't
known that sooner or later I should have to stand up and take my
dose. Phew, it was a ghastly meal. I'm certain I shall dream it all
over again every time I eat something that doesn't agree with me! It
was a great relief when at last Grandmother turned at the door and
looking at my feet as though they were curiosities, said: 'Joan, you
will follow us to the drawing-room.' Her voice was cold enough to
freeze the sea."

"Then she went out, her stick rapping the floor, Grandfather after