She's either rather stupid or she's shy--and one's as
bad as the other. She's a child that stares."
If, when Andrews had taken her into the Gardens, she had played
with other children, Robin would no doubt have learned something
of the existence and normal attitude of mothers through the
mere accident of childish chatter, but it somehow happened that
she never formed relations with the charges of other nurses. She
took it for granted for some time that this was because Andrews
had laid down some mysterious law. Andrews did not seem to form
acquaintances herself. Sometimes she sat on a bench and talked
a little to another nurse, but she seldom sat twice with the same
person. It was indeed generally her custom to sit alone, crocheting
or sewing, with a rather lofty and exclusive air and to call Robin
back to her side if she saw her slowly edging towards some other
child.
"My rule is to keep myself to myself," she said in the kitchen.
"And to look as if I was the one that would turn up noses, if
noses was to be turned up. There's those that would snatch away
their children if I let Robin begin to make up to them. Some
wouldn't, of course, but I'm not going to run risks. I'm going to
save my own pride."
But one morning when Robin was watching her sparrows, a nurse,
who was an old acquaintance, surprised Andrews by appearing in the
Gardens with two little girls in her charge.
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