Her little parties became less noisy, if they still remained
lively. She gave an "afternoon" now and then to which literary
people and artists, and persons who "did things" were invited.
She was pretty enough to allure an occasional musician to "do
something", some new poet to read or recite. Fashionable people
were asked to come and hear and talk to them, and, in this way,
she threw out delicate fishing lines here and there, and again
and again drew up a desirable fish of substantial size. Sometimes
the vague rumour connected with the name of the Head of the House
of Coombe was quite forgotten and she was referred to amiably as
"That beautiful creature, Mrs. Gareth-Lawless." She was left a
widow when she was nothing but a girl. If she hadn't had a little
money of her own, and if her husband's relatives hadn't taken care
of her, she would have had a hard time of it. She is amazingly
clever at managing her, small income, they added. Her tiny house
is one of the jolliest little places in London--always full of
good looking people and amusing things.
But, before Robin was fourteen, she had found out that the house
she lived in was built of glass and that any chance stone would
break its panes, even if cast without particular skill in aiming.
She found it out in various ways, but the seed from which all
things sprang to the fruition of actual knowledge was the child
tragedy through which she had learned that Donal had been taken
from her--because his mother would not let him love and play with
a little girl whose mother let Lord Coombe come to her house--because
Lord Coombe was so bad that even servants whispered secrets about
him.
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