The one course, however, towards which discretion
pointed as entirely safe was the continuance of being as quiet
as a mouse--even quieter, if such thing might be--so that nothing
might interfere with anything any one wanted to do. To interfere
would have been to attract attention and might lead to delay. So
she stood and watched the sparrows inoffensively until Anne called
her.
When she found herself out on the street her step was so light on
the pavement that she was rather like a rose petal blown fluttering
along by soft vagrant puffs of spring air. Under her flopping
hat her eyes and lips and cheeks were so happy that more than one
passer-by turned head over shoulder to look after her.
"Your name ought to be Rose," Anne giggled involuntarily as she
glanced down at her because someone had stared. She had not meant
to speak but the words said themselves.
Because the time was young June even London sky and air were
wonderful. Stray breaths of fragrance came and went. The green of
the trees in the Gardens was light and fresh and in the bedded-out
curves and stars and circles there were more flowers every hour,
so that it seemed as if blooming things with scents grew thick
about one's feet. It was no wonder one felt light and smiled back
at nurses and governesses who looked up. Robin drew eyes became she
was like a summer bloom suddenly appearing in the Spring Garden.
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