Perhaps people who think grow beautiful."
Feather was not often alluring or coquettish in her manner to
Coombe but she tilted her head prettily and looked down at her
flower through lovely lashes.
"_I_ don't think," she said. "And I am not so bad looking."
"No," he answered coldly. "You are not. At times you look like a
young angel."
"If Mrs. Muir is like that," she said after a brief pause, "I
should like to know what she thinks of me?"
"No, you would not--neither should I--if she thinks at all," was
his answer. "But you remember you said you did not mind that sort
of thing."
"I don't. Why should I? It can't harm me." Her hint of a pout
made her mouth entrancing. "But, if she thinks good looks are the
result of religiousness I should like to let her see Robin--and
compare her with her boy. I saw Robin in the park last week and
she's a perfect beauty."
"Last week?" said Coombe.
"She doesn't need anyone but Andrews. I should bore her to death if
I went and sat in the Nursery and stared at her. No one does that
sort of thing in these days. But I should like to see Mrs. Muir to
see the two children together!" "That could not easily be arranged,
I am afraid," he said.
"Why not?"
His answer was politely deliberate.
"She greatly disapproves of me, I have told you. She is not proud
of the relationship."
"She does not like ME you mean?"
"Excuse me.
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