She was not really being confidential now, but, realizing
Dowson's comfortable kindliness, she knew that it would be safe
to speak to her.
"He was a big boy," she answered keeping her eyes on Dowson's
face. "He laughed and ran and jumped. His eyes--" she stopped
there because she could not explain what she had wanted to say about
these joyous young eyes, which were the first friendly human ones
she had known.
"He lives in Scotland," she began again. "His mother loved him.
He kissed me. He went away. Lord Coombe sent him."
Dawson could not help her start.
"Lord Coombe!" she exclaimed.
Robin came close to her and ground her little fist into her knee,
until its plumpness felt almost bruised.
"He is bad--bad--bad!" and she looked like a little demon.
Being a wise woman, Dowson knew at once that she had come upon a
hidden child volcano, and it would be well to let it seethe into
silence. She was not a clever person, but long experience had
taught her that there were occasions when it was well to leave
a child alone. This one would not answer if she were questioned.
She would only become stubborn and furious, and no child should
be goaded into fury. Dowson had, of course, learned that the boy
was a relative of his lordship's and had a strict Scottish mother
who did not approve of the slice of a house. His lordship might
have been concerned in the matter--or he might not.
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