The most conscientiously careful mother couldn't
object. It's almost like entering into the kingdom of heaven--in
a dull way." She began to laugh again as if amusing images rose
suddenly before her. "And what does the Duchess think of it?" she
said after her laughter had ceased again. "How does she reconcile
herself to the idea of a companion whose mother she wouldn't have
in her house?"
"We need not enter into that view of the case. You decided some
years ago that it did not matter to you whether Early Victorian
duchesses included you in their visiting lists or did not. More
modern ones do I believe--quite beautiful and amusing ones."
"But for that reason I want this one and those like her. They would
bore me, but I want them. I want them to come to my house and be
polite to me in their stuffy way. I want to be invited to their
hideous dinner parties and see them sitting round their tables in
their awful family jewels 'talking of the sad deaths of kings.'
That's Shakespeare, you know. I heard it last night at the theatre."
"Why do you want it?" Coombe inquired.
"When I ask you why you show your morbid interest in Robin, you
say you don't know. I don't know--but I do want it."
She suddenly flushed, she even showed her small teeth. For an
extraordinary moment she looked like a little cat.
"Robin will hare it," she cried, grinding a delicate fist into
the palm on her knee.
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