"ARE you her mother?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course I am."
Donal quite flushed with excitement.
"She doesn't KNOW," he said.
He turned on Robin.
"She's your Mother! You thought you hadn't one! She's your Mother!"
"But I am the Lady Downstairs, too." Feather was immensely amused.
She was not subtle enough to know why she felt a perverse kind of
pleasure in seeing the Scotch woman standing so still, and that
it led her into a touch of vulgarity. "I wanted very much to see
your boy," she said.
"Yes," still gently from Mrs. Muir.
"Because of Coombe, you know. We are such old friends. How queer
that the two little things have made friends, too. I didn't know.
I am so glad I caught a glimpse of you and that I had seen the
portrait. GOOD morning. Goodbye, children."
While she strayed airily away they all watched her. She picked up
her friend, the Starling, who, not feeling concerned or needed,
had paused to look at daffodils. The children watched her until
her victoria drove away, the chiffon ruffles of her flowerlike
parasol fluttering in the air.
Mrs. Muir had sat down again and Donal and Robin leaned against
her. They saw she was not laughing any more but they did not know
that her eyes had something like grief in them.
"She's her Mother!" Donal cried. "She's lovely, too. But she's--her
MOTHER!" and his voice and face were equally puzzled.
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