Robin was alone and was
busily playing with some leaves she had plucked and laid on the
seat of a bench for some mysterious reason. She looked good for
an hour's safe occupation, and Andrews returned to her friend's
detailed and intimate version of a great country house scandal,
of which the papers were full because it had ended in the divorce
court.
Donal had, at that special moment, gone to pick some of the biggest
leaves from the lilac bush of which the Gardens contained numerous
sooty specimens. The leaves Robin was playing with were some he
had plucked first to show her a wonderful thing. If you laid a leaf
flat on the seat of the bench and were fortunate enough to possess
a large pin you could prick beautiful patterns on the leaf's
greenness--dots and circles, and borders and tiny triangles of a
most decorative order. Neither Donal nor Robin had a pin but Donal
had, in his rolled down stocking, a little dirk the point of which
could apparently be used for any interesting purpose. It was really
he who did the decoration, but Robin leaned against the bench and
looked on enthralled. She had never been happy before in the entire
course of her brief existence. She had not known or expected and
conditions other than those she was familiar with--the conditions
of being fed and clothed, kept clean and exercised, but totally
unloved and unentertained.
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