"She will be disappointed, of course, but she is so little that
she will not feel it as much as if she were bigger. She will get
over it, darling. Very little girls do not remember things long."
Oh, how coarse and crass and stupid it sounded--how course and
crass and stupid to say it to this small defiant scrap of what
seemed the inevitable suffering of the world!
The clear blue of the eyes Robin had dwelt in, lifted itself to
her. There was something almost fierce in it--almost like impotent
hatred of something.
"She won't," he said, and she actually heard him grind his little
teeth after it.
He did not look like Donal when he was dressed and sat at the
breakfast table. He did not eat much of his porridge, but she saw
that he determinedly ate some. She felt several times as if he
actually did not look like anybody she had ever seen. And at the
same time his fair hair, his fair cheeks, and the fair sturdy
knees beneath his swinging kilt made him seem as much a little boy
as she had ever known him. It was his hot blue eyes which were
different.
He obeyed her every wish and followed where she led. When the train
laboured out of the big station he had taken a seat in a corner
and sat with his face turned to the window, so that his back was
towards her. He stared and stared at the passing country and she
could only see part of his cheek and the side of his neck.
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