Mrs. Muir
will count and she's forty if she's a day. Her son's such a beauty
that people go mad over him. And he worships her--and he's her
slave. I wish you WOULD get into some mess you couldn't get out
of! Don't come to me if you do."
The wide beauty of Robin's gaze and her tear wet bloom were too
much. Feather was quite close to her. The spiteful schoolgirl
impulse got the better of her.
"Don't make eyes at me like that," she cried, and she actually
gave the rose cheek nearest her a sounding little slap, "There!"
she exclaimed hysterically and she turned about and ran out of
the room crying herself.
Robin had parted from Mademoiselle Valle at Charing Cross Station
on the afternoon of the same day, but the night before they had
sat up late together and talked a long time. In effect Mademoiselle
had said also, "You are going out into the world," but she had not
approached the matter in Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' mood. One may have
charge of a girl and be her daily companion for years, but there
are certain things the very years themselves make it increasingly
difficult to say to her. And after all why should one state
difficult things in exact phrases unless one lacks breeding and
is curious. Anxious she had been at times, but not curious. So it
was that even on this night of their parting it was not she who
spoke.
It was after a few minutes of sitting in silence and looking at
the fire that Robin broke in upon the quiet which had seemed to
hold them both.
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