The tropically
scented warmth--the tiers on tiers of bloom above bloom--the
softened swing of music--the splash of the fountain on water and
leaves. Their plane had lifted itself too. They could hear the
splashing water and sometimes feel it in the corner seat of marble
he took her to. A crystal drop fell on her hand when she sat down.
The blue of his eyes was vaguely troubled and he spoke as if he
were not certain of himself.
"I was wakened up in what seemed to me the middle of the night,"
he said, as if indeed the thing had happened only the day before.
"My mother was obliged to go back suddenly to Scotland. I was only
a little chap, but it nearly finished me. Parents and guardians
don't understand how gigantic such a thing can be. I had promised
you--we had promised each other--hadn't we?"
"Yes," said Robin. Her eyes were fixed upon his face--open and
unmoving. Such eyes! Such eyes! All the touchingness of the past
was in their waiting on his words.
"Children--little boys especially--are taught that they must not
cry out when they are hurt. As I sat in the train through the
journey that day I thought my heart would burst in my small breast.
I turned my back and stared out of the window for fear my mother
would see my face. I'd always loved her. Do you know I think that
just then I HATED her. I had never hated anything before. Good
Lord! What a thing for a little chap to go through! My mother was
an angel, but she didn't KNOW.
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