Yet the singular fact remained that it was to him one must
carefully appeal.
One afternoon Feather swept him, with one or two others, into the
sitting-room with the round window in which flowers grew. Robin
was sitting at a low table making pothooks with a lead pencil on
a piece of paper Dowson had given her. Dowson had, in fact, set
her at the task, having heard from Jennings that his lordship
and the other afternoon tea drinkers were to be brought into the
"Palace" as Feather ironically chose to call it. Jennings rather
liked Dowson, and often told her little things she wanted to know.
It was because Lord Coombe would probably come in with the rest
that Dowson had set the low, white table in the round windows and
suggested the pothooks.
In course of time there was a fluttering and a chatter in the
corridor. Feather was bringing some new guests, who had not seen
the place before.
"This is where my daughter lives. She is much grander than I am,"
she said.
"Stand up, Miss Robin, and make your curtsey," whispered Dowson.
Robin did as she was told, and Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' pretty brows
ran up.
"Look at her legs," she said. "She's growing like Jack and the
Bean Stalk--though, I suppose, it was only the Bean Stalk that
grew. She'll stick through the top of the house soon. Look at her
legs, I ask you."
She always spoke as if the child were an inanimate object and she
had, by this time and by this means, managed to sweep from Robin's
mind all the old, babyish worship of her loveliness and had planted
in its place another feeling.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224