Her voice had risen to a shriek, and she stamped her foot.

Sprite, now wholly disgusted, turned and ran.

Mrs. Harcourt, from an upper window, saw Sprite running away from the
house, just as Gwen's angry voice made itself heard.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed, "What a pity that of all the children that
Gwen knows, not one really understands her."

The lady, to whom she spoke, looked up into her handsome face, and
wondered how any intelligent woman could be so blind regarding her own
child.

"She's so very high strung," continued Mrs. Harcourt, "that she is
easily excited, and she's so _very_ sensitive that her playmates are
constantly hurting her."

"Why do you not urge her to bear with her little friends patiently,
and thus help matters to glide more smoothly?"

"Ah, you, dear friend, like all the rest, fail to understand how fine,
how _extremely_ sensitive my little Gwen is," Mrs. Harcourt responded.

At this point Gwen rushed up the stairs, stamping on every stair, and
dashed into the room.

"I'm glad she's gone!" she cried, flinging herself down on a chair
near the window, a frown making her look as unpleasant as possible.