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diff --git a/old/6491.txt b/old/6491.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5b89edc..0000000 --- a/old/6491.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13320 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Head of the House of Coombe, by -Frances Hodgson Burnett - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Head of the House of Coombe - -Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett - -Posting Date: September 1, 2012 [EBook #6491] -Release Date: September, 2004 -First Posted: December 22, 2002 -Last Updated: January 10, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team. - - - - - - - - - - - -THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE - -BY - -FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT - -NEW YORK - - - - - - -CHAPTER I - - - - - -The history of the circumstances about to be related began many -years ago--or so it seems in these days. It began, at least, years -before the world being rocked to and fro revealed in the pause -between each of its heavings some startling suggestion of a new -arrangement of its kaleidoscopic particles, and then immediately -a re-arrangement, and another and another until all belief in a -permanency of design seemed lost, and the inhabitants of the earth -waited, helplessly gazing at changing stars and colours in a degree -of mental chaos. - -Its opening incidents may be dated from a period when people -still had reason to believe in permanency and had indeed many of -them--sometimes through ingenuousness, sometimes through stupidity -of type--acquired a singular confidence in the importance and -stability of their possessions, desires, ambitions and forms of -conviction. - -London at the time, in common with other great capitals, felt -itself rather final though priding itself on being much more fluid -and adaptable than it had been fifty years previously. In speaking -of itself it at least dealt with fixed customs, and conditions -and established facts connected with them--which gave rise to -brilliant--or dull--witticisms. - -One of these, heard not infrequently, was to the effect that--in -London--one might live under an umbrella if one lived under it in -the right neighbourhood and on the right side of the street, which -axiom is the reason that a certain child through the first six -years of her life sat on certain days staring out of a window -in a small, dingy room on the top floor of a slice of a house on -a narrow but highly fashionable London street and looked on at -the passing of motors, carriages and people in the dull afternoon -grayness. - -The room was exalted above its station by being called The Day -Nursery and another room equally dingy and uninviting was known as -The Night Nursery. The slice of a house was inhabited by the very -pretty Mrs. Gareth-Lawless, its inordinate rent being reluctantly -paid by her--apparently with the assistance of those "ravens" who -are expected to supply the truly deserving. The rent was inordinate -only from the standpoint of one regarding it soberly in connection -with the character of the house itself which was a gaudy little -kennel crowded between two comparatively stately mansions. On one -side lived an inordinately rich South African millionaire, and -on the other an inordinately exalted person of title, which facts -combined to form sufficient grounds for a certain inordinateness -of rent. - -Mrs. Gareth-Lawless was also, it may be stated, of the fibre -which must live on the right side of the street or dissolve into -nothingness--since as nearly nothingness as an embodied entity can -achieve had Nature seemingly created her at the outset. So light -and airy was the fair, slim, physical presentation of her being -to the earthly vision, and so almost impalpably diaphanous the -texture and form of mind and character to be observed by human -perception, that among such friends--and enemies--as so slight a -thing could claim she was prettily known as "Feather". Her real -name, "Amabel", was not half as charming and whimsical in its -appropriateness. "Feather" she adored being called and as it was -the fashion among the amazing if amusing circle in which she spent -her life, to call its acquaintances fantastic pet names selected -from among the world of birds, beasts and fishes or inanimate -objects--"Feather" she floated through her curious existence. And -it so happened that she was the mother of the child who so often -stared out of the window of the dingy and comfortless Day Nursery, -too much a child to be more than vaguely conscious in a chaotic way -that a certain feeling which at times raged within her and made her -little body hot and restless was founded on something like actual -hate for a special man who had certainly taken no deliberate steps -to cause her detestation. - - * * * * * - -"Feather" had not been called by that delicious name when she married -Robert Gareth-Lawless who was a beautiful and irresponsibly rather -than deliberately bad young man. She was known as Amabel Darrel -and the loveliest girl in the lovely corner of the island of Jersey -where her father, a country doctor, had begotten a large family of -lovely creatures and brought them up on the appallingly inadequate -proceeds of his totally inadequate practice. Pretty female things -must be disposed of early lest their market value decline. Therefore -a well-born young man even without obvious resources represents a -sail in the offing which is naturally welcomed as possibly belonging -to a bark which may at least bear away a burden which the back -carrying it as part of its pack will willingly shuffle on to other -shoulders. It is all very well for a man with six lovely daughters -to regard them as capital if he has money or position or generous -relations or if he has energy and an ingenious unfatigued mind. But -a man who is tired and neither clever nor important in any degree -and who has reared his brood in one of the Channel Islands with a -faded, silly, unattractive wife as his only aid in any difficulty, -is wise in leaving the whole hopeless situation to chance and luck. -Sometimes luck comes without assistance but--almost invariably--it -does not. - -"Feather"--who was then "Amabel"--thought Robert Gareth-Lawless -incredible good luck. He only drifted into her summer by merest -chance because a friend's yacht in which he was wandering about -"came in" for supplies. A girl Ariel in a thin white frock and with -big larkspur blue eyes yearning at you under her flapping hat as -she answers your questions about the best road to somewhere will -not be too difficult about showing the way herself. And there you -are at a first-class beginning. - -The night after she met Gareth-Lawless in a lane whose banks were -thick with bluebells, Amabel and her sister Alice huddled close -together in bed and talked almost pantingly in whispers over the -possibilities which might reveal themselves--God willing--through -a further acquaintance with Mr. Gareth-Lawless. They were eager and -breathlessly anxious but they were young--YOUNG in their eagerness -and Amabel was full of delight in his good looks. - -"He is SO handsome, Alice," she whispered actually hugging her, not -with affection but exultation. "And he can't be more than twenty-six -or seven. And I'm SURE he liked me. You know that way a man has of -looking at you--one sees it even in a place like this where there -are only curates and things. He has brown eyes--like dark bright -water in pools. Oh, Alice, if he SHOULD!" - -Alice was not perhaps as enthusiastic as her sister. Amabel had -seen him first and in the Darrel household there was a sort of -unwritten, not always observed code flimsily founded on "First come -first served." Just at the outset of an acquaintance one might -say "Hands off" as it were. But not for long. - -"It doesn't matter how pretty one is they seldom do," Alice -grumbled. "And he mayn't have a farthing." - -"Alice," whispered Amabel almost agonizingly, "I wouldn't -CARE a farthing--if only he WOULD! Have I a farthing--have you a -farthing--has anyone who ever comes here a farthing? He lives in -London. He'd take me away. To live even in a back street IN LONDON -would be Heaven! And one MUST--as soon as one possibly can.--One -MUST! And Oh!" with another hug which this time was a shudder, -"think of what Doris Harmer had to do! Think of his thick red old -neck and his horrid fatness! And the way he breathed through his -nose. Doris said that at first it used to make her ill to look at -him." - -"She's got over it," whispered Alice. "She's almost as fat as he -is now. And she's loaded with pearls and things." - -"I shouldn't have to 'get over' anything," said Amabel, "if this -one WOULD. I could fall in love with him in a minute." - -"Did you hear what Father said?" Alice brought out the words -rather slowly and reluctantly. She was not eager on the whole to -yield up a detail which after all added glow to possible prospects -which from her point of view were already irritatingly glowing. -Yet she could not resist the impulse of excitement. "No, you didn't -hear. You were out of the room." - -"What about? Something about HIM? I hope it wasn't horrid. How -could it be?" - -"He said," Alice drawled with a touch of girlishly spiteful -indifference, "that if he was one of the poor Gareth-Lawlesses he -hadn't much chance of succeeding to the title. His uncle--Lord -Lawdor--is only forty-five and he has four splendid healthy -boys--perfect little giants." - -"Oh, I didn't know there was a title. How splendid," exclaimed Amabel -rapturously. Then after a few moments' innocent maiden reflection -she breathed with sweet hopefulness from under the sheet, "Children -so often have scarlet fever or diphtheria, and you know they -say those very strong ones are more likely to die than the other -kind. The Vicar of Sheen lost FOUR all in a week. And the Vicar -died too. The doctor said the diphtheria wouldn't have killed him -if the shock hadn't helped." - -Alice--who had a teaspoonful more brain than her sister--burst -into a fit of giggling it was necessary to smother by stuffing -the sheet in her mouth. - -"Oh! Amabel!" she gurgled. "You ARE such a donkey! You would have -been silly enough to say that even if people could have heard you. -Suppose HE had!" - -"Why should he care," said Amabel simply. "One can't help thinking -things. If it happened he would be the Earl of Lawdor and--" - -She fell again into sweet reflection while Alice giggled a little -more. Then she herself stopped and thought also. After all perhaps--! -One had to be practical. The tenor of her thoughts was such that -she did not giggle again when Amabel broke the silence by whispering -with tremulous, soft devoutness. - -"Alice--do you think that praying REALLY helps?" - -"I've prayed for things but I never got them," answered Alice. -"But you know what the Vicar said on Sunday in sermon about 'Ask -and ye shall receive'." - -"Perhaps you haven't prayed in the right spirit," Amabel suggested -with true piety. "Shall we--shall we try? Let us get out of bed -and kneel down." - -"Get out of bed and kneel down yourself," was Alice's sympathetic -rejoinder. "You wouldn't take that much trouble for ME." - -Amabel sat up on the edge of the bed. In the faint moonlight and -her white night-gown she was almost angelic. She held the end of -the long fair soft plait hanging over her shoulder and her eyes -were full of reproach. - -"I think you ought to take SOME interest," she said plaintively. -"You know there would be more chances for you and the others--if -I were not here." - -"I'll wait until you are not here," replied the unstirred Alice. - -But Amabel felt there was no time for waiting in this particular -case. A yacht which "came in" might so soon "put out". She knelt -down, clasping her slim young hands and bending her forehead upon -them. In effect she implored that Divine Wisdom might guide Mr. -Robert Gareth-Lawless in the much desired path. She also made -divers promises because nothing is so easy as to promise things. -She ended with a gently fervent appeal that--if her prayer -were granted--something "might happen" which would result in her -becoming a Countess of Lawdor. One could not have put the request -with greater tentative delicacy. - -She felt quite uplifted and a trifle saintly when she rose from -her knees. Alice had actually fallen asleep already and she sighed -quite tenderly as she slipped into the place beside her. Almost -as her lovely little head touched the pillow her own eyes closed. -Then she was asleep herself--and in the faintly moonlit room with -the long soft plait trailing over her shoulder looked even more -like an angel than before. - -Whether or not as a result of this touching appeal to the Throne -of Grace, Robert Gareth-Lawless DID. In three months there was -a wedding at the very ancient village church, and the flowerlike -bridesmaids followed a flower of a bride to the altar and later in -the day to the station from where Mr. and Mrs. Robert Gareth-Lawless -went on their way to London. Perhaps Alice and Olive also knelt by -the side of their white beds the night after the wedding, for on -that propitious day two friends of the bridegroom's--one of them -the owner of the yacht--decided to return again to the place where -there were to be found the most nymphlike of pretty creatures a man -had ever by any chance beheld. Such delicate little fair crowned -heads, such delicious little tip-tilted noses and slim white throats, -such ripples of gay chatter and nonsense! When a man has fortune -enough of his own why not take the prettiest thing he sees? So -Alice and Olive were borne away also and poor Mr. and Mrs. Darrel -breathed sighs of relief and there were not only more chances but -causes for bright hopefulness in the once crowded house which now -had rooms to spare. - -A certain inattention on the part of the Deity was no doubt -responsible for the fact that "something" did not "happen" to the -family of Lord Lawdor. On the contrary his four little giants of -sons throve astonishingly and a few months after the Gareth-Lawless -wedding Lady Lawdor--a trifle effusively, as it were--presented her -husband with twin male infants so robust that they were humorously -known for years afterwards as the "Twin Herculeses." - -By that time Amabel had become "Feather" and despite Robert's -ingenious and carefully detailed method of living upon nothing -whatever, had many reasons for knowing that "life is a back street -in London" is not a matter of beds of roses. Since the back street -must be the "right street" and its accompaniments must wear an aspect -of at least seeming to belong to the right order of detachment and -fashionable ease, one was always in debt and forced to keep out of -the way of duns, and obliged to pretend things and tell lies with -aptness and outward gaiety. Sometimes one actually was so far driven -to the wall that one could not keep most important engagements and -the invention of plausible excuses demanded absolute genius. The -slice of a house between the two big ones was a rash feature of -the honeymoon but a year of giving smart little dinners in it and -going to smart big dinners from it in a smart if small brougham -ended in a condition somewhat akin to the feat of balancing oneself -on the edge of a sword. - -Then Robin was born. She was an intruder and a calamity of course. -Nobody had contemplated her for a moment. Feather cried for a week -when she first announced the probability of her advent. Afterwards -however she managed to forget the approaching annoyance and went -to parties and danced to the last hour continuing to be a great -success because her prettiness was delicious and her diaphanous -mentality was no strain upon the minds of her admirers male and -female. - -That a Feather should become a parent gave rise to much wit of light -weight when Robin in the form of a bundle of lace was carried down -by her nurse to be exhibited in the gaudy crowded little drawing-room -in the slice of a house in the Mayfair street. - -It was the Head of the House of Coombe who asked the first question -about her. - -"What will you DO with her?" he inquired detachedly. - -The frequently referred to "babe unborn" could not have presented -a gaze of purer innocence than did the lovely Feather. Her eyes of -larkspur blueness were clear of any thought or intention as spring -water is clear at its unclouded best. - -Her ripple of a laugh was clear also--enchantingly clear. - -"Do!" repeated. "What is it people 'do' with babies? I suppose -the nurse knows. I don't. I wouldn't touch her for the world. She -frightens me." - -She floated a trifle nearer and bent to look at her. - -"I shall call her Robin," she said. "Her name is really Roberta -as she couldn't be called Robert. People will turn round to look -at a girl when they hear her called Robin. Besides she has eyes -like a robin. I wish she'd open them and let you see." - -By chance she did open them at the moment--quite slowly. They were -dark liquid brown and seemed to be all lustrous iris which gazed -unmovingly at the object in of focus. That object was the Head of -the House of Coombe. - -"She is staring at me. There is antipathy in her gaze," he said, -and stared back unmovingly also, but with a sort of cold interest. - - - - - - -CHAPTER II - - - - - -The Head of the House of Coombe was not a title to be found in -Burke or Debrett. It was a fine irony of the Head's own and having -been accepted by his acquaintances was not infrequently used by -them in their light moments in the same spirit. The peerage recorded -him as a Marquis and added several lesser attendant titles. - -"When English society was respectable, even to stodginess at times," -was his point of view, "to be born 'the Head of the House' was a -weighty and awe-inspiring thing. In fearful private denunciatory -interviews with one's parents and governors it was brought up against -one as a final argument against immoral conduct such as debt and -not going to church. As the Head of the House one was called upon -to be an Example. In the country one appeared in one's pew and -announced oneself a 'miserable sinner' in loud tones, one had to -invite the rector to dinner with regularity and 'the ladies' of -one's family gave tea and flannel petticoats and baby clothes to -cottagers. Men and women were known as 'ladies' and 'gentlemen' -in those halcyon days. One Represented things--Parties in -Parliament--Benevolent Societies, and British Hospitality in the -form of astounding long dinners at which one drank healths and -made speeches. In roseate youth one danced the schottische and the -polka and the round waltz which Lord Byron denounced as indecent. -To recall the vigour of his poem gives rise to a smile--when one -chances to sup at a cabaret." - -He was considered very amusing when he analyzed his own mental -attitude towards his world in general. - -"I was born somewhat too late and somewhat too early," he explained -in his light, rather cold and detached way. "I was born and educated -at the closing of one era and have to adjust myself to living in -another. I was as it were cradled among treasured relics of the -ethics of the Georges and Queen Charlotte, and Queen Victoria in -her bloom. _I_ was in my bloom in the days when 'ladies' were -reproved for wearing dresses cut too low at Drawing Rooms. Such -training gives curious interest to fashions in which bodices are -unconsidered trifles and Greek nymphs who dance with bare feet -and beautiful bare legs may be one's own relations. I trust I do -not seem even in the shadowiest way to comment unfavourably. I -merely look on at the rapidities of change with unalloyed interest. -As the Head of the House of Coombe I am not sure WHAT I am an -Example of--or to. Which is why I at times regard myself in that -capacity with a slightly ribald lightness." - -The detachment of his question with regard to the newborn infant -of the airily irresponsible Feather was in entire harmony with his -attitude towards the singular incident of Life as illustrated by -the World, the Flesh and the Devil by none of which he was--as far -as could be observed--either impressed, disturbed or prejudiced. -His own experience had been richly varied and practically unlimited -in its opportunities for pleasure, sinful or unsinful indulgence, -mitigated or unmitigated wickedness, the gathering of strange -knowledge, and the possible ignoring of all dull boundaries. This -being the case a superhuman charity alone could have forborne to -believe that his opportunities had been neglected in the heyday -of his youth. Wealth and lack of limitations in themselves would -have been quite enough to cause the Nonconformist Victorian mind -to regard a young--or middle-aged--male as likely to represent a -fearsome moral example, but these three temptations combined with -good looks and a certain mental brilliance were so inevitably the -concomitants of elegant iniquity that the results might be taken -for granted. - -That the various worlds in which he lived in various lands accepted -him joyfully as an interesting and desirable of more or less -abominably sinful personage, the Head of the House of Coombe--even -many years before he became its head--regarded with the detachment -which he had, even much earlier, begun to learn. Why should it be -in the least matter what people thought of one? Why should it in -the least matter what one thought of oneself--and therefore--why -should one think at all? He had begun at the outset a brilliantly -happy young pagan with this simple theory. After the passing of -some years he had not been quite so happy but had remained quite -as pagan and retained the theory which had lost its first fine -careless rapture and gained a secret bitterness. He had not married -and innumerable stories were related to explain the reason why. -They were most of them quite false and none of them quite true. -When he ceased to be a young man his delinquency was much discussed, -more especially when his father died and he took his place as the -head of his family. He was old enough, rich enough, important enough -for marriage to be almost imperative. But he remained unmarried. -In addition he seemed to consider his abstinence entirely an affair -of his own. - -"Are you as wicked as people say you are?" a reckless young woman -once asked him. She belonged to the younger set which was that -season trying recklessness, in a tentative way, as a new fashion. - -"I really don't know. It is so difficult to decide," he answered. -"I could tell better if I knew exactly what wickedness is. When -I find out I will let you know. So good of you to take an interest." - -Thirty years earlier he knew that a young lady who had heard he was -wicked would have perished in flames before immodestly mentioning -the fact to him, but might have delicately attempted to offer "first -aid" to reformation, by approaching with sweetness the subject of -going to church. - -The reckless young woman looked at him with an attention which -he was far from being blind enough not to see was increased by his -answer. - -"I never know what you mean," she said almost wistfully. - -"Neither do I," was his amiable response. "And I am sure it would -not be worth while going into. Really, we neither of us know what -we mean. Perhaps I am as wicked as I know how to be. And I may -have painful limitations--or I may not." - -After his father's death he spent rather more time in London and -rather less in wandering over the face of the globe. But by the -time he was forty he knew familiarly far countries and near and -was intimate with most of the peoples thereof. He could have found -his way about blind-folded in the most distinctive parts of most -of the great cities. He had seen and learned many things. The -most absorbing to his mind had been the ambitions and changes of -nations, statesmen, rulers and those they ruled or were ruled by. -Courts and capitals knew him, and his opportunities were such as -gave him all ease as an onlooker. He was outwardly of the type -which does not arouse caution in talkers and he heard much which -was suggestive even to illumination, from those to whom he remained -unsuspected of being a man who remembered things long and was -astute in drawing conclusions. The fact remained however that -he possessed a remarkable memory and one which was not a rag-bag -filled with unassorted and parti-coloured remnants, but a large and -orderly space whose contents were catalogued and filed and well -enclosed from observation. He was also given to the mental argument -which follows a point to its conclusion as a mere habit of mind. -He saw and knew well those who sat and pondered with knit brows and -cautiously hovering hand at the great chess-board which is formed -by the Map of Europe. He found an enormous interest in watching -their play. It was his fortune as a result of his position to know -persons who wore crowns and a natural incident in whose lives it -was to receive the homage expressed by the uncovering of the head -and the bending of the knee. At forty he looked back at the time -when the incongruousness, the abnormality and the unsteadiness of -the foundations on which such personages stood first struck him. -The realization had been in its almost sacrilegious novelty and -daring, a sort of thunderbolt passing through his mind. He had -at the time spoken of it only to one person. - -"I have no moral or ethical views to offer," he had said. "I only -SEE. The thing--as it is--will disintegrate. I am so at sea as -to what will take its place that I feel as if the prospect were -rather horrible. One has had the old landmarks and been impressed -by the old pomp and picturesqueness so many centuries, that one -cannot see the earth without them. There have been kings even in -the Cannibal Islands." - -As a statesman or a diplomat he would have seen far but he had been -too much occupied with Life as an entertainment, too self-indulgent -for work of any order. He freely admitted to himself that he was -a worthless person but the fact did not disturb him. Having been -born with a certain order of brain it observed and worked in spite -of him, thereby adding flavour and interest to existence. But that -was all. - -It cannot be said that as the years passed he quite enjoyed the -fact that he knew he was rarely spoken of to a stranger without -its being mentioned that he was the most perfectly dressed man in -London. He rather detested the idea though he was aware that the -truth was unimpeachable. The perfection of his accompaniments had -arisen in his youth from a secret feeling for fitness and harmony. -Texture and colour gave him almost abnormal pleasure. His expression -of this as a masculine creature had its limits which resulted in -a concentration on perfection. Even at five-and-twenty however he -had never been called a dandy and even at five-and-forty no one -had as yet hinted at Beau Brummel though by that time men as well -as women frequently described to each other the cut and colour -of the garments he wore, and tailors besought him to honour them -with crumbs of his patronage in the ambitious hope that they might -mention him as a client. And the simple fact that he appeared in -a certain colour or cut set it at once on its way to become a -fashion to be seized upon, worn and exaggerated until it was -dropped suddenly by its originator and lost in the oblivion of -cheap imitations and cheap tailor shops. The first exaggeration -of the harmony he had created and the original was seen no more. - -Feather herself had a marvellous trick in the collecting of her -garments. It was a trick which at times barely escaped assuming the -proportions of absolute creation. Her passion for self-adornment -expressed itself in ingenious combination and quite startling -uniqueness of line now and then. Her slim fairness and ash-gold -gossamer hair carried airily strange tilts and curves of little -or large hats or daring tints other women could not sustain -but invariably strove to imitate however disastrous the results. -Beneath soft drooping or oddly flopping brims hopelessly unbecoming -to most faces hers looked out quaintly lovely as a pictured child's -wearing its grandmother's bonnet. Everything draped itself about -or clung to her in entrancing folds which however whimsical were -never grotesque. - -"Things are always becoming to me," she said quite simply. "But -often I stick a few pins into a dress to tuck it up here and there, -or if I give a hat a poke somewhere to make it crooked, they are -much more becoming. People are always asking me how I do it but -I don't know how. I bought a hat from Cerise last week and I gave -it two little thumps with my fist--one in the crown and one in -the brim and they made it wonderful. The maid of the most grand -kind of person tried to find out from my maid where I bought it. -I wouldn't let her tell of course." - -She created fashions and was imitated as was the Head of the House -of Coombe but she was enraptured by the fact and the entire power -of such gray matter as was held by her small brain cells was -concentrated upon her desire to evolve new fantasies and amazements -for her world. - -Before he had been married for a year there began to creep into the -mind of Bob Gareth-Lawless a fearsome doubt remotely hinting that -she might end by becoming an awful bore in the course of -time--particularly if she also ended by being less pretty. She -chattered so incessantly about nothing and was such an empty-headed, -extravagant little fool in her insistence on clothes--clothes--clothes--as -if they were the breath of life. After watching her for about two -hours one morning as she sat before her mirror directing her maid -to arrange and re-arrange her hair in different styles--in delicate -puffs and curls and straying rings--soft bands and loops--in braids -and coils--he broke forth into an uneasy short laugh and expressed -himself--though she did not know he was expressing himself and -would not have understood him if she had. - -"If you have a soul--and I'm not at all certain you have--" he -said, "it's divided into a dressmaker's and a hairdresser's and -a milliner's shop. It's full of tumbled piles of hats and frocks -and diamond combs. It's an awful mess, Feather." - -"I hope it's a shoe shop and a jeweller's as well," she laughed -quite gaily. "And a lace-maker's. I need every one of them." - -"It's a rag shop," he said. "It has nothing but CHIFFONS in it." - -"If ever I DO think of souls I think of them as silly gauzy things -floating about like little balloons," was her cheerful response. - -"That's an idea," he answered with a rather louder laugh. "Yours -might be made of pink and blue gauze spangled with those things -you call paillettes." - -The fancy attracted her. - -"If I had one like that"--with a pleased creative air, "it would -look rather ducky floating from my shoulder--or even my hat--or my -hair in the evenings, just held by a tiny sparkling chain fastened -with a diamond pin--and with lovely little pink and blue streamers." -With the touch of genius she had at once relegated it to its place -in the scheme of her universe. And Robert laughed even louder than -before. - -"You mustn't make me laugh," she said holding up her hand. "I am -having my hair done to match that quakery thin pale mousey dress -with the tiny poke bonnet--and I want to try my face too. I must -look sweet and demure. You mustn't really laugh when you wear a -dress and hat like that. You must only smile." - -Some months earlier Bob would have found it difficult to believe -that she said this entirely without any touch of humour but he -realized now that it was so said. He had some sense of humour of -his own and one of his reasons for vaguely feeling that she might -become a bore was that she had none whatever. - -It was at the garden party where she wore the thin quakery mousey -dress and tiny poke bonnet that the Head of the House of Coombe -first saw her. It was at the place of a fashionable artist who -lived at Hampstead and had a garden and a few fine old trees. It -had been Feather's special intention to strike this note of delicate -dim colour. Every other woman was blue or pink or yellow or white -or flowered and she in her filmy coolness of unusual hue stood out -exquisitely among them. Other heads wore hats broad or curved or -flopping, hers looked like a little nun's or an imaginary portrait -of a delicious young great-grandmother. She was more arresting -than any other female creature on the emerald sward or under the -spreading trees. - -When Coombe's eyes first fell upon her he was talking to a group -of people and he stopped speaking. Someone standing quite near him -said afterwards that he had for a second or so become pale--almost -as if he saw something which frightened him. - -"Who is that under the copper beech--being talked to by Harlow?" -he inquired. - -Feather was in fact listening with a gentle air and with her eyelids -down drooped to the exact line harmonious with the angelic little -poke bonnet. - -"It is Mrs. Robert Gareth-Lawless--'Feather' we call her," he was -answered. "Was there ever anything more artful than that startling -little smoky dress? If it was flame colour one wouldn't see it as -quickly." - -"One wouldn't look at it as long," said Coombe. "One is in danger -of staring. And the little hat--or bonnet--which pokes and is -fastened under her pink ear by a satin bow held by a loose pale -bud! Will someone rescue me from staring by leading me to her. It -won't be staring if I am talking to her. Please." - -The paleness appeared again as on being led across the grass he -drew nearer to the copper beech. He was still rather pale when -Feather lifted her eyes to him. Her eyes were so shaped by Nature -that they looked like an angel's when they were lifted. There are -eyes of that particular cut. But he had not talked to her fifteen -minutes before he knew that there was no real reason why he should -ever again lose his colour at the sight of her. He had thought at -first there was. With the perception which invariably marked her -sense of fitness of things she had begun in the course of the -fifteen minutes--almost before the colour had quite returned to -his face--the story of her husband's idea of her soul, as a balloon -of pink and blue gauze spangled with paillettes. And of her own -inspiration of wearing it floating from her shoulder or her hair -by the light sparkling chain--and with delicate ribbon streamers. -She was much delighted with his laugh--though she thought it had a -rather cracked, harsh sound. She knew he was an important person -and she always felt she was being a success when people laughed. - -"Exquisite!" he said. "I shall never see you in the future without -it. But wouldn't it be necessary to vary the colour at times?" - -"Oh! Yes--to match things," seriously. "I couldn't wear a pink and -blue one with this--" glancing over the smoky mousey thing "--or -paillettes." - -"Oh, no--not paillettes," he agreed almost with gravity, the harsh -laugh having ended. - -"One couldn't imagine the exact colour in a moment. One would have -to think," she reflected. "Perhaps a misty dim bluey thing--like -the edge of a rain-cloud--scarcely a colour at all." - -For an instant her eyes were softly shadowed as if looking into -a dream. He watched her fixedly then. A woman who was a sort of -angel might look like that when she was asking herself how much -her pure soul might dare to pray for. Then he laughed again and -Feather laughed also. - -Many practical thoughts had already begun to follow each other -hastily through her mind. It would be the best possible thing -for them if he really admired her. Bob was having all sorts of -trouble with people they owed money to. Bills were sent in again -and again and disagreeable letters were written. Her dressmaker -and milliner had given her most rude hints which could indeed -be scarcely considered hints at all. She scarcely dared speak to -their smart young footman who she knew had only taken the place -in the slice of a house because he had been told that it might be -an opening to better things. She did not know the exact summing -up at the agency had been as follows: - -"They're a good looking pair and he's Lord Lawdor's nephew. -They're bound to have their fling and smart people will come to -their house because she's so pretty. They'll last two or three -years perhaps and you'll open the door to the kind of people who -remember a well set-up young fellow if he shows he knows his work -above the usual." - -The more men of the class of the Head of the House of Coombe who -came in and out of the slice of a house the more likely the owners -of it were to get good invitations and continued credit, Feather -was aware. Besides which, she thought ingenuously, if he was rich -he would no doubt lend Bob money. She had already known that certain -men who liked her had done it. She did not mind it at all. One -was obliged to have money. - -This was the beginning of an acquaintance which gave rise to much -argument over tea-cups and at dinner parties and in boudoirs--even -in corners of Feather's own gaudy little drawing-room. The argument -regarded the degree of Coombe's interest in her. There was always -curiosity as to the degree of his interest in any woman--especially -and privately on the part of the woman herself. Casual and shallow -observers said he was quite infatuated if such a thing were possible -to a man of his temperament; the more concentrated of mind said it -was not possible to a man of his temperament and that any attraction -Feather might have for him was of a kind special to himself and -that he alone could explain it--and he would not. - -Remained however the fact that he managed to see a great deal of -her. It might be said that he even rather followed her about and -more than one among the specially concentrated of mind had seen him -on occasion stand apart a little and look at her--watch her--with -an expression suggesting equally profound thought and the profound -intention to betray his private meditations in no degree. There -was no shadow of profundity of thought in his treatment of her. -He talked to her as she best liked to be talked to about herself, -her successes and her clothes which were more successful than -anything else. He went to the little but exceedingly lively dinners -the Gareth-Lawlesses gave and though he was understood not to be -fond of dancing now and then danced with her at balls. - -Feather was guilelessly doubtless concerning him. She was quite sure -that he was in love with her. Her idea of that universal emotion -was that it was a matter of clothes and propinquity and loveliness -and that if one were at all clever one got things one wanted as a -result of it. Her overwhelming affection for Bob and his for her -had given her life in London and its entertaining accompaniments. -Her frankness in the matter of this desirable capture when she -talked to her husband was at once light and friendly. - -"Of course you will be able to get credit at his tailor's as you -know him so well," she said. "When I persuaded him to go with me -to Madame Helene's last week she was quite amiable. He helped me -to choose six dresses and I believe she would have let me choose -six more." - -"Does she think he is going to pay for them?" asked Bob. - -"It doesn't matter what she thinks"; Feather laughed very prettily. - -"Doesn't it?" - -"Not a bit. I shall have the dresses. What's the matter, Rob? You -look quite red and cross." - -"I've had a headache for three days," he answered, "and I feel -hot and cross. I don't care about a lot of things you say, Feather." - -"Don't be silly," she retorted. "I don't care about a lot of things -you say--and do, too, for the matter of that." - -Robert Gareth-Lawless who was sitting on a chair in her dressing-room -grunted slightly as he rubbed his red and flushed forehead. - -"There's a--sort of limit," he commented. He hesitated a little -before he added sulkily "--to the things one--SAYS." - -"That sounds like Alice," was her undisturbed answer. "She used -to squabble at me because I SAID things. But I believe one of -the reasons people like me is because I make them laugh by SAYING -things. Lord Coombe laughs. He is a very good person to know," -she added practically. "Somehow he COUNTS. Don't you recollect -how before we knew him--when he was abroad so long--people used -to bring him into their talk as if they couldn't help remembering -him and what he was like. I knew quite a lot about him--about -his cleverness and his manners and his way of keeping women off -without being rude--and the things he says about royalties and the -aristocracy going out of fashion. And about his clothes. I adore -his clothes. And I'm convinced he adores mine." - -She had in fact at once observed his clothes as he had crossed the -grass to her seat under the copper beech. She had seen that his -fine thinness was inimitably fitted and presented itself to the -eye as that final note of perfect line which ignores any possibility -of comment. He did not wear things--they were expressions of his -mental subtleties. Feather on her part knew that she wore her -clothes--carried them about with her--however beautifully. - -"I like him," she went on. "I don't know anything about political -parties and the state of Europe so I don't understand the things -he says which people think are so brilliant, but I like him. He -isn't really as old as I thought he was the first day I saw him. -He had a haggard look about his mouth and eyes then. He looked -as if a spangled pink and blue gauze soul with little floating -streamers was a relief to him." - -The child Robin was a year old by that time and staggered about -uncertainly in the dingy little Day Nursery in which she passed her -existence except on such occasions as her nurse--who had promptly -fallen in love with the smart young footman--carried her down to -the kitchen and Servants' Hall in the basement where there was an -earthy smell and an abundance of cockroaches. The Servants' Hall -had been given that name in the catalogue of the fashionable -agents who let the home and it was as cramped and grimy as the -two top-floor nurseries. - -The next afternoon Robert Gareth-Lawless staggered into his wife's -drawing-room and dropped on to a sofa staring at her and breathing -hard. - -"Feather!" he gasped. "Don't know what's up with me. I believe -I'm--awfully ill! I can't see straight. Can't think." - -He fell over sidewise on to the cushions so helplessly that Feather -sprang at him. - -"Don't, Rob, don't!" she cried in actual anguish. "Lord Coombe -is taking us to the opera and to supper afterwards. I'm going to -wear--" She stopped speaking to shake him and try to lift his head. -"Oh! do try to sit up," she begged pathetically. "Just try. DON'T -give up till afterwards." But she could neither make him sit up nor -make him hear. He lay back heavily with his mouth open, breathing -stertorously and quite insensible. - -It happened that the Head of the House of Coombe was announced -at that very moment even as she stood wringing her hands over the -sofa. - -He went to her side and looked at Gareth-Lawless. - -"Have you sent for a doctor?" he inquired. - -"He's--only just done it!" she exclaimed. "It's more than I can -bear. You said the Prince would be at the supper after the opera -and--" - -"Were you thinking of going?" he put it to her quietly. - -"I shall have to send for a nurse of course--" she began. He went -so far as to interrupt her. - -"You had better not go--if you'll pardon my saying so," he suggested. - -"Not go? Not go at all?" she wailed. - -"Not go at all," was his answer. And there was such entire lack -of encouragement in it that Feather sat down and burst into sobs. - -In few than two weeks Robert was dead and she was left a lovely -penniless widow with a child. - - - - - - -CHAPTER III - - - - - -Two or three decades earlier the prevailing sentiment would have -been that "poor little Mrs. Gareth-Lawless" and her situation were -pathetic. Her acquaintances would sympathetically have discussed -her helplessness and absolute lack of all resource. So very pretty, -so young, the mother of a dear little girl--left with no income! -How very sad! What COULD she do? The elect would have paid her visits -and sitting in her darkened drawing-room earnestly besought her -to trust to her Maker and suggested "the Scriptures" as suitable -reading. Some of them--rare and strange souls even in their -time--would have known what they meant and meant what they said in -a way they had as yet only the power to express through the medium -of a certain shibboleth, the rest would have used the same forms -merely because shibboleth is easy and always safe and creditable. - -But to Feather's immediate circle a multiplicity of engagements, -fevers of eagerness in the attainment of pleasures and ambitions, -anxieties, small and large terrors, and a whirl of days left no time -for the regarding of pathetic aspects. The tiny house up whose -staircase--tucked against a wall--one had seemed to have the effect of -crowding even when one went alone to make a call, suddenly ceased -to represent hilarious little parties which were as entertaining -as they were up to date and noisy. The most daring things London -gossiped about had been said and done and worn there. Novel social -ventures had been tried--dancing and songs which seemed almost -startling at first--but which were gradually being generally adopted. -There had always been a great deal of laughing and talking of -nonsense and the bandying of jokes and catch phrases. And Feather -fluttering about and saying delicious, silly things at which her -hearers shouted with glee. Such a place could not suddenly become -pathetic. It seemed almost indecent for Robert Gareth-Lawless to -have dragged Death nakedly into their midst--to have died in his -bed in one of the little bedrooms, to have been put in his coffin -and carried down the stairs scraping the wall, and sent away in a -hearse. Nobody could bear to think of it. - -Feather could bear it less than anybody else. It seemed incredible -that such a trick could have been played her. She shut herself -up in her stuffy little bedroom with its shrimp pink frills and -draperies and cried lamentably. At first she cried as a child might -who was suddenly snatched away in the midst of a party. Then she -began to cry because she was frightened. Numbers of cards "with -sympathy" had been left at the front door during the first week -after the funeral, they had accumulated in a pile on the salver -but very few people had really come to see her and while she knew -they had the excuse of her recent bereavement she felt that it made -the house ghastly. It had never been silent and empty. Things had -always been going on and now there was actually not a sound to be -heard--no one going up and down stairs--Rob's room cleared of all -his belongings and left orderly and empty--the drawing-room like a -gay little tomb without an occupant. How long WOULD it be before -it would be full of people again--how long must she wait before -she could decently invite anyone?--It was really at this point that -fright seized upon her. Her brain was not given to activities of -reasoning and followed no thought far. She had not begun to ask -herself questions as to ways and means. Rob had been winning at -cards and had borrowed some money from a new acquaintance so no -immediate abyss had yawned at her feet. But when the thought of -future festivities rose before her a sudden check made her involuntarily -clutch at her throat. She had no money at all, bills were piled -everywhere, perhaps now Robert was dead none of the shops would -give her credit. She remembered hearing Rob come into the house -swearing only the day before he was taken ill and it had been -because he had met on the door-step a collector of the rent which -was long over-due and must be paid. She had no money to pay it, -none to pay the servants' wages, none to pay the household bills, -none to pay for the monthly hire of the brougham! Would they turn -her into the street--would the servants go away--would she be left -without even a carriage? What could she do about clothes! She -could not wear anything but mourning now and by the time she was -out of mourning her old clothes would have gone out of fashion. -The morning on which this aspect of things occurred to her, she -was so terrified that she began to run up and down the room like a -frightened little cat seeing no escape from the trap it is caught -in. - -"It's awful--it's awful--it's awful!" broke out between her sobs. -"What can I do? I can't do anything! There's nothing to do! It's -awful--it's awful--it's awful!" She ended by throwing herself on -the bed crying until she was exhausted. She had no mental resources -which would suggest to her that there was anything but crying to -be done. She had cried very little in her life previously because -even in her days of limitation she had been able to get more or -less what she wanted--though of course it had generally been less. -And crying made one's nose and eyes red. On this occasion she -actually forgot her nose and eyes and cried until she scarcely -knew herself when she got up and looked in the glass. - -She rang the bell for her maid and sat down to wait her coming. -Tonson should bring her a cup of beef tea. - -"It's time for lunch," she thought. "I'm faint with crying. And -she shall bathe my eyes with rose-water." - -It was not Tonson's custom to keep her mistress waiting but today -she was not prompt. Feather rang a second time and an impatient -third and then sat in her chair and waited until she began to feel -as she felt always in these dreadful days the dead silence of the -house. It was the thing which most struck terror to her soul--that -horrid stillness. The servants whose place was in the basement -were too much closed in their gloomy little quarters to have -made themselves heard upstairs even if they had been inclined to. -During the last few weeks Feather had even found herself wishing -that they were less well trained and would make a little noise--do -anything to break the silence. - -The room she sat in--Rob's awful little room adjoining--which was -awful because of what she had seen for a moment lying stiff and -hard on the bed before she was taken away in hysterics--were dread -enclosures of utter silence. The whole house was dumb--the very -street had no sound in it. She could not endure it. How dare -Tonson? She sprang up and rang the bell again and again until its -sound came back to her pealing through the place. - -Then she waited again. It seemed to her that five minutes passed -before she heard the smart young footman mounting the stairs slowly. -She did not wait for his knock upon the door but opened it herself. - -"How dare Tonson!" she began. "I have rung four or five times! -How dare she!" - -The smart young footman's manner had been formed in a good school. -It was attentive, impersonal. - -"I don't know, ma'am," he answered. - -"What do you mean? What does SHE mean? Where is she?" Feather felt -almost breathless before his unperturbed good style. - -"I don't know, ma'am," he answered as before. Then with the same -unbiassed bearing added, "None of us know. She has gone away." - -Feather clutched the door handle because she felt herself swaying. - -"Away! Away!" the words were a faint gasp. - -"She packed her trunk yesterday and carried it away with her on a -four-wheeler. About an hour ago, ma'am." Feather dropped her hand -from the knob of the door and trailed back to the chair she had -left, sinking into it helplessly. - -"Who--who will dress me?" she half wailed. - -"I don't know, ma'am," replied the young footman, his excellent -manner presuming no suggestion or opinion whatever. He added -however, "Cook, ma'am, wishes to speak to you." - -"Tell her to come to me here," Feather said. "And I--I want a cup -of beef tea." - -"Yes, ma'am," with entire respect. And the door closed quietly -behind him. - -It was not long before it was opened again. "Cook" had knocked and -Feather had told her to come in. Most cooks are stout, but this -one was not. She was a thin, tall woman with square shoulders and -a square face somewhat reddened by constant proximity to fires. -She had been trained at a cooking school. She carried a pile of -small account books but she brought nothing else. - -"I wanted some beef tea, Cook," said Feather protestingly. - -"There is no beef tea, ma'am," said Cook. "There is neither beef, -nor stock, nor Liebig in the house." - -"Why--why not?" stammered Feather and she stammered because even -her lack of perception saw something in the woman's face which -was new to her. It was a sort of finality. - -She held out the pile of small books. - -"Here are the books, ma'am," was her explanation. "Perhaps as you -don't like to be troubled with such things, you don't know how -far behind they are. Nothing has been paid for months. It's been -an every-day fight to get the things that was wanted. It's not -an agreeable thing for a cook to have to struggle and plead. I've -had to do it because I had my reputation to think of and I couldn't -send up rubbish when there was company." - -Feather felt herself growing pale as she sat and stared at her. -Cook drew near and laid one little book after another on the small -table near her. - -"That's the butcher's book," she said. "He's sent nothing in for -three days. We've been living on leavings. He's sent his last, -he says and he means it. This is the baker's. He's not been for -a week. I made up rolls because I had some flour left. It's done -now--and HE'S done. This is groceries and Mercom & Fees wrote -to Mr. Gareth-Lawless when the last month's supply came, that it -would BE the last until payment was made. This is wines--and coal -and wood--and laundry--and milk. And here is wages, ma'am, which -CAN'T go on any longer." - -Feather threw up her hands and quite wildly. - -"Oh, go away!--go away!" she cried. "If Mr. Lawless were here--" - -"He isn't, ma'am," Cook interposed, not fiercely but in a way more -terrifying than any ferocity could have been--a way which pointed -steadily to the end of things. "As long as there's a gentleman -in a house there's generally a sort of a prospect that things MAY -be settled some way. At any rate there's someone to go and speak -your mind to even if you have to give up your place. But when -there's no gentleman and nothing--and nobody--respectable people -with their livings to make have got to protect themselves." - -The woman had no intention of being insolent. Her simple statement -that her employer's death had left "Nothing" and "Nobody" was -prompted by no consciously ironic realization of the diaphanousness -of Feather. As for the rest she had been professionally trained -to take care of her interests as well as to cook and the ethics -of the days of her grandmother when there had been servants with -actual affections had not reached her. - -"Oh! go away! Go AWA-AY!" Feather almost shrieked. - -"I am going, ma'am. So are Edward and Emma and Louisa. It's no -use waiting and giving the month's notice. We shouldn't save the -month's wages and the trades-people wouldn't feed us. We can't stay -here and starve. And it's a time of the year when places has to -be looked for. You can't hold it against us, ma'am. It's better -for you to have us out of the house tonight--which is when our -boxes will be taken away." - -Then was Feather seized with a panic. For the first time in her -life she found herself facing mere common facts which rose before -her like a solid wall of stone--not to be leapt, or crept under, -or bored through, or slipped round. She was so overthrown and -bewildered that she could not even think of any clever and rapidly -constructed lie which would help her; indeed she was so aghast -that she did not remember that there were such things as lies. - -"Do you mean," she cried out, "that you are all going to LEAVE -the house--that there won't be any servants to wait on me--that -there's nothing to eat or drink--that I shall have to stay here -ALONE--and starve!" - -"We should have to starve if we stayed," answered Cook simply. "And -of course there are a few things left in the pantry and closets. -And you might get in a woman by the day. You won't starve, ma'am. -You've got your family in Jersey. We waited because we thought -Mr. and Mrs. Darrel would be sure to come." - -"My father is ill. I think he's dying. My mother could not leave -him for a moment. Perhaps he's dead now," Feather wailed. - -"You've got your London friends, ma'am--" - -Feather literally beat her hands together. - -"My friends! Can I go to people's houses and knock at their front -door and tell them I haven't any servants or anything to eat! Can -I do that? Can I?" And she said it as if she were going crazy. - -The woman had said what she had come to say as spokeswoman for the -rest. It had not been pleasant but she knew she had been quite -within her rights and dealt with plain facts. But she did not -enjoy the prospect of seeing her little fool of a mistress raving -in hysterics. - -"You mustn't let yourself go, ma'am," she said. "You'd better lie -down a bit and try to get quiet." She hesitated a moment looking -at the pretty ruin who had risen from her seat and stood trembling. - -"It's not my place of course to--make suggestions," she said quietly. -"But--had you ever thought of sending for Lord Coombe, ma'am?" - -Feather actually found the torn film of her mind caught for a -second by something which wore a form of reality. Cook saw that -her tremor appeared to verge on steadying itself. - -"Coombe," she faintly breathed as if to herself and not to Cook. - -"Coombe." - -"His lordship was very friendly with Mr. Lawless and he seemed fond -of--coming to the house," was presented as a sort of added argument. -"If you'll lie down I'll bring you a cup of tea, ma'am--though it -can't be beef." - -Feather staggered again to her bed and dropped flat upon it--flat -as a slim little pancake in folds of thin black stuff which hung -and floated. - -"I can't bring you cream," said Cook as she went out of the room. -"Louisa has had nothing but condensed milk--since yesterday--to -give Miss Robin." - -"Oh-h!" groaned Feather, not in horror of the tea without cream -though that was awful enough in its significance, but because this -was the first time since the falling to pieces of her world that -she had given a thought to the added calamity of Robin. - - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - - - -If one were to devote one's mental energies to speculation as -to what is going on behind the noncommittal fronts of any row of -houses in any great city the imaginative mind might be led far. - -Bricks, mortar, windows, doors, steps which lead up to the threshold, -are what are to be seen from the outside. Nothing particular may -be transpiring within the walls, or tragedies, crimes, hideous suffering -may be enclosed. The conclusion is obvious to banality--but as -suggestive as banal--so suggestive in fact that the hyper-sensitive -and too imaginative had better, for their own comfort's sake, leave -the matter alone. In most cases the existing conditions would not be -altered even if one knocked at the door and insisted on entering -with drawn sword in the form of attendant policeman. The outside -of the slice of a house in which Feather lived was still rather -fresh from its last decorative touching up. It had been painted -cream colour and had white doors and windows and green window boxes -with variegated vinca vines trailing from them and pink geraniums, -dark blue lobelia and ferns filling the earth stuffed in by the -florist who provided such adornments. Passers-by frequently -glanced at it and thought it a nice little house whose amusing -diminutiveness was a sort of attraction. It was rather like a new -doll's house. - -No one glancing at it in passing at the closing of this particular -day had reason to suspect that any unaccustomed event was taking -place behind the cream-coloured front. The front door "brasses" -had been polished, the window-boxes watered and no cries for aid -issued from the rooms behind them. The house was indeed quiet both -inside and out. Inside it was indeed even quieter than usual. The -servants' preparation for departure had been made gradually and -undisturbedly. There had been exhaustive quiet discussion of the -subject each night for weeks, even before Robert Gareth-Lawless' -illness. The smart young footman Edward who had means of gaining -practical information had constituted himself a sort of private -detective. He had in time learned all that was to be learned. -This, it had made itself clear to him on investigation, was not -one of those cases when to wait for evolutionary family events -might be the part of discretion. There were no prospects ahead--none -at all. Matters would only get worse and the whole thing would end -in everybody not only losing their unpaid back wages but having to -walk out into the street through the door of a disgraced household -whose owners would be turned out into the street also when their -belongings were sold over their heads. Better get out before -everything went to pieces and there were unpleasantnesses. There -would be unpleasantnesses because there was no denying that the -trades-people had been played tricks with. Mrs. Gareth-Lawless -was only one of a lot of pretty daughters whose father was a poor -country doctor in Jersey. He had had "a stroke" himself and his -widow would have nothing to live on when he died. That was what -Mrs. Lawless had to look to. As to Lord Lawdor Edward had learned -from those who DID know that he had never approved of his nephew -and that he'd said he was a fool for marrying and had absolutely -refused to have anything to do with him. He had six boys and -a girl now and big estates weren't what they had been, everyone -knew. There was only one thing left for Cook and Edward and Emma -and Louisa to do and that was to "get out" without any talk or -argument. - -"She's not one that won't find someone to look after her," ended -Edward. "Somebody or other will take her up because they'll be sorry -for her. But us lot aren't widows and orphans. No one's going to -be sorry for us or care a hang what we've been let in for. The longer -we stay, the longer we won't be paid." He was not a particularly -depraved or cynical young footman but he laughed a little at the -end of his speech. "There's the Marquis," he added. "He's been -running in and out long enough to make a good bit of talk. Now's -his time to turn up." - -After she had taken her cup of tea without cream Feather had fallen -asleep in reaction from her excited agitation. It was in accord -with the inevitable trend of her being that even before her eyes -closed she had ceased to believe that the servants were really -going to leave the house. It seemed too ridiculous a thing to -happen. She was possessed of no logic which could lead her to a -realization of the indubitable fact that there was no reason why -servants who could neither be paid nor provided with food should -remain in a place. The mild stimulation of the tea also gave rise -to the happy thought that she would not give them any references -if they "behaved badly". It did not present itself to her that -references from a house of cards which had ignominiously fallen -to pieces and which henceforth would represent only shady failure, -would be of no use. So she fell asleep. - - * * * * * - -When she awakened the lights were lighted in the streets and one -directly across the way threw its reflection into her bedroom. It -lit up the little table near which she had sat and the first thing -she saw was the pile of small account books. The next was that the -light which revealed them also fell brightly on the glass knob of -the door which led into Robert's room. - -She turned her eyes away quickly with a nervous shudder. She had -a horror of the nearness of Rob's room. If there had been another -part of the house in which she could have slept she would have fled -to it as soon as he was taken ill. But the house was too small to -have "parts". The tiny drawing-rooms piled themselves on top of the -dining-room, the "master's bedrooms" on top of the drawing-rooms, -and the nurseries and attics where Robin and the servants slept -one on the other at the top of the house. So she had been obliged -to stay and endure everything. Rob's cramped quarters had always -been full of smart boots and the smell of cigars and men's clothes. -He had moved about a good deal and had whistled and laughed and -sworn and grumbled. They had neither of them had bad tempers -so that they had not quarrelled with each other. They had talked -through the open door when they were dressing and they had invented -clever tricks which helped them to get out of money scrapes and -they had gossiped and made fun of people. And now the door was -locked and the room was a sort of horror. She could never think of -it without seeing the stiff hard figure on the bed, the straight -close line of the mouth and the white hard nose sharpened and -narrowed as Rob's had never been. Somehow she particularly could -not bear the recollection of the sharp unnatural modeling of -the hard, white nose. She could not BEAR it! She found herself -recalling it the moment she saw the light on the door handle and -she got up to move about and try to forget it. - -It was then that she went to the window and looked down into the -street, probably attracted by some slight noise though she was not -exactly aware that she had heard anything. - -She must have heard something however. Two four-wheeled cabs were -standing at the front door and the cabman assisted by Edward were -putting trunks on top of them. They were servants' trunks and -Cook was already inside the first cab which was filled with paper -parcels and odds and ends. Even as her mistress watched Emma got -in carrying a sedate band-box. She was the house-parlourmaid and -a sedate person. The first cab drove away as soon as its door was -closed and the cabman mounted to his seat. Louisa looking wholly -unprofessional without her nurse's cap and apron and wearing a -tailor-made navy blue costume and a hat with a wing in it, entered -the second cab followed by Edward intensely suggesting private -life and possible connection with a Bank. The second cab followed -the first and Feather having lost her breath looked after them as -they turned the corner of the street. - -When they were quite out of sight she turned back into the room. -The colour had left her skin, and her eyes were so wide stretched -and her face so drawn and pinched with abject terror that her -prettiness itself had left her. - -"They've gone--all of them!" she gasped. She stopped a moment, her -chest rising and falling. Then she added even more breathlessly, -"There's no one left in the house. It's--empty!" - -This was what was going on behind the cream-coloured front, the -white windows and green flower-boxes of the slice of a house as -motors and carriages passed it that evening on their way to dinner -parties and theatres, and later as the policeman walked up and down -slowly upon his beat. - -Inside a dim light in the small hall showed a remote corner where -on a peg above a decorative seat hung a man's hat of the highest -gloss and latest form; and on the next peg a smart evening overcoat. -They had belonged to Robert Gareth-Lawless who was dead and needed -such things no more. The same dim light showed the steep narrowness -of the white-railed staircase mounting into gruesome little corners -of shadows, while the miniature drawing-rooms illumined only from -the street seemed to await an explanation of dimness and chairs -unfilled, combined with unnatural silence. - -It would have been the silence of the tomb but that it was now and -then broken by something like a half smothered shriek followed by -a sort of moaning which made their way through the ceiling from -the room above. - -Feather had at first run up and down the room like a frightened -cat as she had done in the afternoon. Afterwards she had had -something like hysterics, falling face downward upon the carpet -and clutching her hair until it fell down. She was not a person to -be judged--she was one of the unexplained incidents of existence. -The hour has passed when the clearly moral can sum up the -responsibilities of a creature born apparently without brain, or -soul or courage. Those who aspire to such morals as are expressed -by fairness--mere fairness--are much given to hesitation. Courage -had never been demanded of Feather so far. She had none whatever -and now she only felt panic and resentment. She had no time to -be pathetic about Robert, being too much occupied with herself. -Robert was dead--she was alive--here--in an empty house with no -money and no servants. She suddenly and rather awfully realized -that she did not know a single person whom it would not be frantic -to expect anything from. - -Nobody had money enough for themselves, however rich they were. -The richer they were the more they needed. It was when this thought -came to her that she clutched her hands in her hair. The pretty -and smart women and agreeable more or less good looking men who -had chattered and laughed and made love in her drawing-rooms were -chattering, laughing and making love in other houses at this very -moment--or they were at the theatre applauding some fashionable -actor-manager. At this very moment--while she lay on the carpet in -the dark and every little room in the house had horror shut inside -its closed doors--particularly Robert's room which was so hideously -close to her own, and where there seemed still to lie moveless -on the bed, the stiff hard figure. It was when she recalled this -that the unnatural silence of the drawing-rooms was intruded upon -by the brief half-stifled hysteric shriek, and the moaning which -made its way through the ceiling. She felt almost as if the door -handle might turn and something stiff and cold try to come in. - -So the hours went on behind the cream-coloured outer walls and -the white windows and gay flower-boxes. And the street became more -and more silent--so silent at last that when the policeman walked -past on his beat his heavy regular footfall seemed loud and almost -resounding. - -To even vaguely put to herself any question involving action would not -have been within the scope of her mentality. Even when she began to -realize that she was beginning to feel faint for want of food she -did not dare to contemplate going downstairs to look for something -to eat. What did she know about downstairs? She had never there -and had paid no attention whatever to Louisa's complaints that the -kitchen and Servants' Hall were small and dark and inconvenient -and that cockroaches ran about. She had cheerfully accepted the -simple philosophy that London servants were used to these things -and if they did their work it did not really matter. But to go -out of one's room in the horrible stillness and creep downstairs, -having to turn up the gas as one went, and to face the basement -steps and cockroaches scuttling away, would be even more impossible -than to starve. She sat upon the floor, her hair tumbling about -her shoulders and her thin black dress crushed. - -"I'd give almost ANYTHING for a cup of coffee," she protested -feebly. "And there's no USE in ringing the bell!" - -Her mother ought to have come whether her father was ill or not. -He wasn't dead. Robert was dead and her mother ought to have come -so that whatever happened she would not be quite alone and SOMETHING -could be done for her. It was probably this tender thought of -her mother which brought back the recollection of her wedding day -and a certain wedding present she had received. It was a pretty -silver travelling flask and she remembered that it must be in her -dressing-bag now, and there was some cognac left in it. She got up -and went to the place where the bag was kept. Cognac raised your -spirits and made you go to sleep, and if she could sleep until -morning the house would not be so frightening by daylight--and -something might happen. The little flask was almost full. Neither -she nor Robert had cared much about cognac. She poured some into -a glass with water and drank it. - -Because she was unaccustomed to stimulant it made her feel quite -warm and in a few minutes she forgot that she had been hungry -and realized that she was not so frightened. It was such a relief -not to be terrified; it was as if a pain had stopped. She actually -picked up one or two of the account books and glanced at the -totals. If you couldn't pay bills you couldn't and nobody was -put in prison for debt in these days. Besides she would not have -been put in prison--Rob would--and Rob was dead. Something would -happen--something. - -As she began to arrange her hair for the night she remembered what -Cook had said about Lord Coombe. She has cried until she did not -look as lovely as usual, but after she had bathed her eyes with -cold rose-water they began to seem only shadowy and faintly flushed. -And her fine ash-gold hair was wonderful when it hung over each -shoulder in wide, soft plaits. She might be a school-girl of -fifteen. A delicate lacy night-gown was one of the most becoming -things one wore. It was a pity one couldn't wear them to parties. -There was nothing the least indecent about them. Millicent Hardwicke -had been photographed in one of hers and no one had suspected -what it was. Yes; she would send a little note to Coombe. She -knew Madame Helene had only let her have her beautiful mourning -because--. The things she had created were quite unique--thin, -gauzy, black, floating or clinging. She had been quite happy the -morning she gave Helene her orders. Tomorrow when she had slept -through the night and it was broad daylight again she would be -able to think of things to say in her letter to Lord Coombe. She -would have to be a little careful because he did not like things -to bore him.--Death and widows might--a little--at first. She had -heard him say once that he did not wish to regard himself in the -light of a charitable institution. It wouldn't do to frighten him -away. Perhaps if he continued coming to the house and seemed very -intimate the trades-people might be managed. - -She felt much less helpless and when she was ready for bed she -took a little more cognac. The flush had faded from her eye-lids -and bloomed in delicious rose on her cheeks. As she crept between -the cool sheets and nestled down on her pillow she had a delightful -sense of increasing comfort--comfort. What a beautiful thing it -was to go to sleep! - -And then she was disturbed--started out of the divine doze stealing -upon her--by a shrill prolonged wailing shriek! - -It came from the Night Nursery and at the moment it seemed almost -worse than anything which had occurred all through the day. It -brought everything back so hideously. She had of course forgotten -Robin again--and it was Robin! And Louisa had gone away with -Edward. She had perhaps put the child to sleep discreetly before -she went. And now she had wakened and was screaming. Feather had -heard that she was a child with a temper but by fair means or foul -Louisa had somehow managed to prevent her from being a nuisance. - -The shrieks shocked her into sitting upright in bed. Their -shrillness tearing through the utter soundlessness of the empty -house brought back all her terrors and set her heart beating at -a gallop. - -"I--I WON'T!" she protested, fairly with chattering teeth. "I won't! -I WON'T!" - -She had never done anything for the child since its birth, she did -not know how to do anything, she had not wanted to know. To reach -her now she would be obliged to go out in the dark--the gas-jet -she would have to light was actually close to the outer door of -Robert's bedroom--THE room! If she did not die of panic while she -was trying to light it she would have to make her way almost in -the dark up the steep crooked little staircase which led to the -nurseries. And the awful little creature's screams would be going -on all the time making the blackness and dead silence of the house -below more filled with horror by contrast--more shut off and at the -same time more likely to waken to some horror which was new. - -"I-I couldn't--even if I wanted to!" she quaked. "I daren't! -I daren't! I wouldn't do it--for A MILLION POUNDS?" And she flung -herself down again shuddering and burrowing her head under the -coverings and pillows she dragged over her ears to shut out the -sounds. - -The screams had taken on a more determined note and a fiercer -shrillness which the still house heard well and made the most of, -but they were so far deadened for Feather that she began beneath -her soft barrier to protest pantingly. - -"I shouldn't know what to do if I went. If no one goes near her -she'll cry herself to sleep. It's--it's only temper. Oh-h! what -a horrible wail! It--it sounds like a--a lost soul!" - -But she did not stir from the bed. She burrowed deeper under the -bed clothes and held the pillow closer to her ears. - - * * * * * - -It did sound like a lost soul at times. What panic possesses -a baby who cries in the darkness alone no one will ever know and -one may perhaps give thanks to whatever gods there be that the baby -itself does not remember. What awful woe of sudden unprotectedness -when life exists only through protection--what piteous panic in -the midst of black unmercifulness, inarticulate sound howsoever -wildly shrill can neither explain nor express. - -Robin knew only Louisa, warmth, food, sleep and waking. Or if she -knew more she was not yet aware that she did. She had reached the -age when she generally slept through the night. She might not have -disturbed her mother until daylight but Louisa had with forethought -given her an infant sleeping potion. It had disagreed with and -awakened her. She was uncomfortable and darkness enveloped her. -A cry or so and Louisa would ordinarily have come to her sleepy, -and rather out of temper, but knowing what to do. In this strange -night the normal cry of warning and demand produced no result. - -No one came. The discomfort continued--the blackness remained -black. The cries became shrieks--but nothing followed; the shrieks -developed into prolonged screams. No Louisa, no light, no milk. -The blackness drew in closer and became a thing to be fought -with wild little beating hands. Not a glimmer--not a rustle--not -a sound! Then came the cries of the lost soul--alone--alone--in -a black world of space in which there was not even another lost -soul. And then the panics of which there have been no records -and never will be, because if the panic stricken does not die in -mysterious convulsions he or she grows away from the memory of -a formless past--except that perhaps unexplained nightmares from -which one wakens quaking, with cold sweat, may vaguely repeat the -long hidden thing. - -What the child Robin knew in the dark perhaps the silent house -which echoed her might curiously have known. But the shrieks wore -themselves out at last and sobs came--awful little sobs shuddering -through the tiny breast and shaking the baby body. A baby's sobs -are unspeakable things--incredible things. Slower and slower -Robin's came--with small deep gasps and chokings between--and when -an uninfantile druglike sleep came, the bitter, hopeless, beaten -little sobs went on. - -But Feather's head was still burrowed under the soft protection -of the pillow. - - - - - - -CHAPTER V - - - - - -The morning was a brighter one than London usually indulges in -and the sun made its way into Feather's bedroom to the revealing -of its coral pink glow and comfort. She had always liked her bedroom -and had usually wakened in it to the sense of luxuriousness it -is possible a pet cat feels when it wakens to stretch itself on -a cushion with its saucer of cream awaiting it. - -But she did not awaken either to a sense of brightness or luxury -this morning. She had slept it was true, but once or twice when -the pillow had slipped aside she had found herself disturbed by -the far-off sound of the wailing of some little animal which had -caused her automatically and really scarcely consciously to replace -the pillow. It had only happened at long intervals because it is -Nature that an exhausted baby falls asleep when it is worn out. -Robin had probably slept almost as much as her mother. - -Feather staring at the pinkness around her reached at last, with -the assistance of a certain physical consciousness, a sort of -spiritless intention. - -"She's asleep now," she murmured. "I hope she won't waken for a -long time. I feel faint. I shall have to find something to eat--if -it's only biscuits." Then she lay and tried to remember what Cook -had said about her not starving. "She said there were a few things -left in the pantry and closets. Perhaps there's some condensed -milk. How do you mix it up? If she cries I might go and give her -some. It wouldn't be so awful now it's daylight." - -She felt shaky when she got out of bed and stood on her feet. She -had not had a maid in her girlhood so she could dress herself, -much as she detested to do it. After she had begun however she -could not help becoming rather interested because the dress she -had worn the day before had become crushed and she put on a fresh -one she had not worn at all. It was thin and soft also, and black -was quite startlingly becoming to her. She would wear this one -when Lord Coombe came, after she wrote to him. It was silly of -her not to have written before though she knew he had left town -after the funeral. Letters would be forwarded. - -"It will be quite bright in the dining-room now," she said -to encourage herself. "And Tonson once said that the only places -the sun came into below stairs were the pantry and kitchen and it -only stayed about an hour early in the morning. I must get there -as soon as I can." - -When she had so dressed herself that the reflection the mirror -gave back to her was of the nature of a slight physical stimulant -she opened her bedroom door and faced exploration of the deserted -house below with a quaking sense of the proportions of the -inevitable. She got down the narrow stairs casting a frightened -glance at the emptiness of the drawing-rooms which seemed to stare -at her as she passed them. There was sun in the dining-room and -when she opened the sideboard she found some wine in decanters and -some biscuits and even a few nuts and some raisins and oranges. -She put them on the table and sat down and ate some of them and -began to feel a little less shaky. - -If she had been allowed time to sit longer and digest and reflect -she might have reached the point of deciding on what she would write -to Lord Coombe. She had not the pen of a ready writer and it must -be thought over. But just when she was beginning to be conscious -of the pleasant warmth of the sun which shone on her shoulders from -the window, she was almost startled our of her chair by hearing -again stealing down the staircase from the upper regions that faint -wail like a little cat's. - -"Just the moment--the very MOMENT I begin to feel a little -quieted--and try to think--she begins again!" she cried out. "It's -worse then ANYTHING!" - -Large crystal tears ran down her face and upon the polished table. - -"I suppose she would starve to death if I didn't give her some -food--and then _I_ should be blamed! People would be horrid about -it. I've got nothing to eat myself." - -She must at any rate manage to stop the crying before she could -write to Coombe. She would be obliged to go down into the pantry -and look for some condensed milk. The creature had no teeth but -perhaps she could mumble a biscuit or a few raisins. If she could -be made to swallow a little port wine it might make her sleepy. The -sun was paying its brief morning visit to the kitchen and pantry -when she reached there, but a few cockroaches scuttled away before -her and made her utter a hysterical little scream. But there WAS -some condensed milk and there was a little warm water in a kettle -because the fire was not quite out. She imperfectly mixed a decoction -and filled a bottle which ought not to have been downstairs but -had been brought and left there by Louisa as a result of tender -moments with Edward. - -When she put the bottle and some biscuits and scraps of cold ham -on a tray because she could not carry them all in her hands, her -sense of outrage and despair made her almost sob. - -"I am just like a servant--carrying trays upstairs," she wept. -"I--I might be Edward--or--or Louisa." And her woe increased when -she added in the dining-room the port wine and nuts and raisins -and macaroons as viands which MIGHT somehow add to infant diet -and induce sleep. She was not sure of course--but she knew they -sucked things and liked sweets. - -A baby left unattended to scream itself to sleep and awakening -to scream itself to sleep again, does not present to a resentful -observer the flowerlike bloom and beauty of infancy. When Feather -carried her tray into the Night Nursery and found herself confronting -the disordered crib on which her offspring lay she felt the child -horrible to look at. Its face was disfigured and its eyes almost -closed. She trembled all over as she put the bottle to its mouth -and saw the fiercely hungry clutch of its hands. It was old enough -to clutch, and clutch it did, and suck furiously and starvingly--even -though actually forced to stop once or twice at first to give vent -to a thwarted remnant of a scream. - -Feather had only seen it as downy whiteness and perfume in -Louisa's arms or in its carriage. It had been a singularly vivid -and brilliant-eyed baby at whom people looked as they passed. - -"Who will give her a bath?" wailed Feather. "Who will change her -clothes? Someone must! Could a woman by the day do it? Cook said -I could get a woman by the day." - -And then she remembered that one got servants from agencies. And -where were the agencies? And even a woman "by the day" would demand -wages and food to eat. - -And then the front door bell rang. - -What could she do--what could she do? Go downstairs and open the -door herself and let everyone know! Let the ringer go on ringing -until he was tired and went away? She was indeed hard driven, -even though the wail had ceased as Robin clutched her bottle to -her breast and fed with frenzy. Let them go away--let them! And -then came the wild thought that it might be Something--the Something -which must happen when things were at their worst! And if it had -come and the house seemed to be empty! She did not walk down the -stairs, she ran. Her heart beat until she reached the door out of -breath and when she opened it stood their panting. - -The people who waited upon the steps were strangers. They were -very nice looking and quite young--a man and a woman very perfectly -dressed. The man took a piece of paper out of his pocketbook and -handed it to her with an agreeable apologetic courtesy. - -"I hope we have not called early enough to disturb you," he said. -"We waited until eleven but we are obliged to catch a train at -half past. It is an 'order to view' from Carson & Bayle." He added -this because Feather was staring at the paper. - -Carson & Bayle were the agents they had rented the house from. -It was Carson & Bayle's collector Robert had met on the threshold -and sworn at two days before he had been taken ill. They were -letting the house over her head and she would be turned out into -the street? - -The young man and woman finding themselves gazing at this exquisitely -pretty creature in exquisite mourning, felt themselves appallingly -embarrassed. She was plainly the widow Carson had spoken of. But -why did she open the door herself? And why did she look as if she -did not understand? Indignation against Carson & Bayle began to -stir the young man. - -"Beg pardon! So sorry! I am afraid we ought not to have come," he -protested. "Agents ought to know better. They said you were giving -up the house at once and we were afraid someone might take it." - -Feather held the "order to view" in her hand and snared at them -quite helplessly. - -"There--are no--no servants to show it to you," she said. "If you -could wait--a few days--perhaps--" - -She was so lovely and Madame Helene's filmy black creation was in -itself such an appeal, that the amiable young strangers gave up -at once. - -"Oh, certainly--certainly! Do excuse us! Carson and Bayle ought -not to have--! We are so sorry. Good morning, GOOD morning," they -gave forth in discomfited sympathy and politeness, and really -quite scurried away. - -Having shut the door on their retreat Feather stood shivering. - -"I am going to be turned out of the house! I shall have to live -in the street!" she thought. "Where shall I keep my clothes if I -live in the street!" - -Even she knew that she was thinking idiotically. Of course if -everything was taken from you and sold, you would have no clothes -at all, and wardrobes and drawers and closets would not matter. -The realization that scarcely anything in the house had been paid -for came home to her with a ghastly shock. She staggered upstairs -to the first drawing-room in which there was a silly pretty little -buhl writing table. - -She felt even more senseless when she sank into a chair before -it and drew a sheet of note-paper towards her. Her thoughts would -not connect themselves with each other and she could not imagine -what she ought to say in her letter to Coombe. In fact she seemed -to have no thoughts at all. She could only remember the things -which had happened, and she actually found she could write nothing -else. There seemed nothing else in the world. - -"Dear Lord Coombe," trailed tremulously over the page--"The house -is quite empty. The servants have gone away. I have no money. And -there is not any food. And I am going to be turned out into the -street--and the baby is crying because it is hungry." - -She stopped there, knowing it was not what she ought to say. And -as she stopped and looked at the words she began herself to wail -somewhat as Robin had wailed in the dark when she would not listen -or go to her. It was like a beggar's letter--a beggar's! Telling -him that she had no money and no food--and would be turned out for -unpaid rent. And that the baby was crying because it was starving! - -"It's a beggar's letter--just a beggar's," she cried out aloud -to the empty room. "And it's tru-ue!" Robin's wail itself had not -been more hopeless than hers was as she dropped her head and let -it lie on the buhl table. - -She was not however even to be allowed to let it lie there, for -the next instant there fell on her startled ear quite echoing -through the house another ring at the doorbell and two steely raps -on the smart brass knocker. It was merely because she did not know -what else to do, having just lost her wits entirely that she got -up and trailed down the staircase again. - -When she opened the door, Lord Coombe--the apotheosis of exquisite -fitness in form and perfect appointment as also of perfect -expression--was standing on the threshold. - - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - - - - -If he had meant to speak he changed his mind after his first sight -of her. He merely came in and closed the door behind him. Curious -experiences with which life had provided him had added finish to -an innate aptness of observation, and a fine readiness in action. - -If she had been of another type he would have saved both her and -himself a scene and steered ably through the difficulties of the -situation towards a point where they could have met upon a normal -plane. A very pretty woman with whose affairs one has nothing -whatever to do, and whose pretty home has been the perfection of -modern smartness of custom, suddenly opening her front door in -the unexplained absence of a footman and confronting a visitor, -plainly upon the verge of hysteria, suggests the necessity of -promptness. - -But Feather gave him not a breath's space. She was in fact not -merely on the verge of her hysteria. She had gone farther. And -here he was. Oh, here he was! She fell down upon her knees and -actually clasped his immaculateness. - -"Oh, Lord Coombe! Lord Coombe! Lord Coombe!" She said it three -times because he presented to her but the one idea. - -He did not drag himself away from her embrace but he distinctly -removed himself from it. - -"You must not fall upon your knees, Mrs. Lawless," he said. "Shall -we go into the drawing-room?" - -"I--was writing to you. I am starving--but it seemed too silly when -I wrote it. And it's true!" Her broken words were as senseless in -their sound as she had thought them when she saw them written. - -"Will you come up into the drawing-room and tell me exactly what -you mean," he said and he made her release him and stand upon her -feet. - -As the years had passed he had detached himself from so many -weaknesses and their sequelae of emotion that he had felt himself -a safely unreachable person. He was not young and he knew enough -of the disagreeableness of consequences to be adroit in keeping out -of the way of apparently harmless things which might be annoying. -Yet as he followed Mrs. Gareth-Lawless and watched her stumbling -up the stairs like a punished child he was aware that he was -abnormally in danger of pitying her as he did not wish to pity -people. The pity was also something apart from the feeling that it -was hideous that a creature so lovely, so shallow and so fragile -should have been caught in the great wheels of Life. - -He knew what he had come to talk to her about but he had really no -clear idea of what her circumstances actually were. Most people -had of course guessed that her husband had been living on the -edge of his resources and was accustomed to debt and duns, but a -lovely being greeting you by clasping your knees and talking about -"starving"--in this particular street in Mayfair, led one to ask -oneself what one was walking into. Feather herself had not known, -in fact neither had any other human being known, that there was -a special reason why he had drifted into seeming rather to allow -her about--why he had finally been counted among the frequenters -of the narrow house--and why he had seemed to watch her a good -deal sometimes with an expression of serious interest--sometimes -with an air of irritation, and sometimes with no expression at -all. But there existed this reason and this it was and this alone -which had caused him to appear upon her threshold and it had also -been the power which had prevented his disengaging himself with -more incisive finality when he found himself ridiculously clasped -about the knees as one who played the part of an obdurate parent -in a melodrama. - -Once in the familiar surroundings of her drawing-room her ash-gold -blondness and her black gauzy frock heightened all her effects -so extraordinarily that he frankly admitted to himself that she -possessed assets which would have modified most things to most -men. - -As for Feather, when she herself beheld him against the background -of the same intimate aspects, the effect of the sound of his voice, -the manner in which he sat down in a chair and a certain remotely -dim hint in the hue of his clothes and an almost concealed note of -some touch of colour which scarcely seemed to belong to anything -worn--were so reminiscent of the days which now seemed past forever -that she began to cry again. - -He received this with discreet lack of melodrama of tone. - -"You mustn't do that, Mrs. Lawless," he said, "or I shall burst -into tears myself. I am a sensitive creature." - -"Oh, DO say 'Feather' instead of Mrs. Lawless," she implored. -"Sometimes you said 'Feather'." - -"I will say it now," he answered, "if you will not weep. It is an -adorable name." - -"I feel as if I should never hear it again," she shuddered, trying -to dry her eyes. "It is all over!" - -"What is all over?" - -"This--!" turning a hopeless gaze upon the two tiny rooms crowded -with knick-knacks and nonsense. "The parties and the fun--and -everything in the world! I have only had some biscuits and raisins -to eat today--and the landlord is going to turn me out." - -It seemed almost too preposterous to quite credit that she was -uttering naked truth.--And yet--! After a second's gaze at her he -repeated what he had said below stairs. - -"Will you tell me exactly what you mean?" - -Then he sat still and listened while she poured it all forth. And -as he listened he realized that it was the mere every day fact that -they were sitting in the slice of a house with the cream-coloured -front and the great lady in her mansion on one side and the -millionaire and his splendours on the other, which peculiarly -added to a certain hint of gruesomeness in the situation. - -It was not necessary to add colour and desperation to the story. -Any effort Feather had made in that direction would only have -detracted from the nakedness of its stark facts. They were quite -enough in themselves in their normal inevitableness. Feather in -her pale and totally undignified panic presented the whole thing -with clearness which had--without being aided by her--an actual -dramatic value. This in spite of her mental dartings to and from -and dragging in of points and bits of scenes which were not connected -with each other. Only a brain whose processes of inclusion and -exclusion were final and rapid could have followed her. Coombe -watched her closely as she talked. No grief-stricken young widowed -loneliness and heart-break were the background of her anguish. She -was her own background and also her own foreground. The strength -of the fine body laid prone on the bed of the room she held in horror, -the white rigid face whose good looks had changed to something she -could not bear to remember, had no pathos which was not concerned -with the fact that Robert had amazingly and unnaturally failed -her by dying and leaving her nothing but unpaid bills. This truth -indeed made the situation more poignantly and finally squalid, -as she brought forth one detail after another. There were bills -which had been accumulating ever since they began their life in -the narrow house, there had been trades-people who had been juggled -with, promises made and supported by adroit tricks and cleverly -invented misrepresentations and lies which neither of the pair had -felt any compunctions about and had indeed laughed over. Coombe -saw it all though he also saw that Feather did not know all she was -telling him. He could realize the gradually increasing pressure -and anger at tricks which betrayed themselves, and the gathering -determination on the part of the creditors to end the matter in the -only way in which it could be ended. It had come to this before -Robert's illness, and Feather herself had heard of fierce interviews -and had seen threatening letters, but she had not believed they -could mean all they implied. Since things had been allowed to go on -so long she felt that they would surely go on longer in the same -way. There had been some serious threatening about the rent and -the unpaid-for furniture. Robert's supporting idea had been that -he might perhaps "get something out of Lawdor who wouldn't enjoy -being the relation of a fellow who was turned into the street!" - -"He ought to have done something," Feather complained. "Robert would -have been Lord Lawdor himself if his uncle had died before he had -all those disgusting children." - -She was not aware that Coombe frequently refrained from saying -things to her--but occasionally allowed himself NOT to refrain. -He did not refrain now from making a simple comment. - -"But he is extremely robust and he has the children. Six stalwart -boys and a stalwart girl. Family feeling has apparently gone out -of fashion." - -As she wandered on with her story he mentally felt himself actually -dragged into the shrimp-pink bedroom and standing an onlooker when -the footman outside the door "did not know" where Tonson had gone. -For a moment he felt conscious of the presence of some scent which -would have been sure to exhale itself from draperies and wardrobe. -He saw Cook put the account books on the small table, he heard her, -he also comprehended her. And Feather at the window breathlessly -watching the two cabs with the servants' trunks on top, and -the servants respectably unprofessional in attire and going away -quietly without an unpractical compunction--he saw these also -and comprehended knowing exactly why compunctions had no part in -latter-day domestic arrangements. Why should they? - -When Feather reached the point where it became necessary to refer -to Robin some fortunate memory of Alice's past warnings caused her -to feel--quite suddenly--that certain details might be eliminated. - -"She cried a little at first," she said, "but she fell asleep -afterwards. I was glad she did because I was afraid to go to her -in the dark." - -"Was she in the dark?" - -"I think so. Perhaps Louisa taught her to sleep without a light. -There was none when I took her some condensed milk this morning. -There was only c-con-d-densed milk to give her." - -She shed tears and choked as she described her journey into the -lower regions and the cockroaches scuttling away before her into -their hiding-places. - -"I MUST have a nurse! I MUST have one!" she almost sniffed. "Someone -must change her clothes and give her a bath!" - -"You can't?" Coombe said. - -"I!" dropping her handkerchief. "How--how CAN I?" - -"I don't know," he answered and picked up the handkerchief with -an aloof grace of manner. - -It was really Robin who was for Feather the breaking-point. - -He thought she was in danger of flinging herself upon him again. -She caught at his arm and her eyes of larkspur blue were actually -wild. - -"Don't you see where I am! How there is nothing and nobody--Don't -you SEE?" - -"Yes, I see," he answered. "You are quite right. There is nothing -AND nobody. I have been to Lawdor myself." - -"You have been to TALK to him?" - -"Yesterday. That was my reason for coming here. He will not see -you or be written to. He says he knows better than to begin that sort -of thing. It may be that family feeling has not the vogue it once -had, but you may recall that your husband infuriated him years -ago. Also England is a less certain quantity than it once was--and -the man has a family. He will allow you a hundred a year but there -he draws the line." - -"A hundred a year!" Feather breathed. From her delicate shoulders -hung floating scarf-like sleeves of black transparency and she lifted -one of them and held it out like a night moth's wing--"This cost -forty pounds," she said, her voice quite faint and low. "A good -nurse would cost forty! A cook--and a footman and a maid--and a -coachman--and the brougham--I don't know how much they would cost. -Oh-h!" - -She drooped forward upon her sofa and laid face downward on a -cushion--slim, exquisite in line, lost in despair. - -The effect produced was that she gave herself into his hands. He -felt as well as saw it and considered. She had no suggestion to -offer, no reserve. There she was. - -"It is an incredible sort of situation," he said in an even, -low-pitched tone rather as if he were thinking aloud, "but it is -baldly real. It is actually simple. In a street in Mayfair a woman -and child might--" He hesitated a second and a wailed word came -forth from the cushion. - -"Starve!" - -He moved slightly and continued. - -"Since their bills have not been paid the trades-people will not -send in food. Servants will not stay in a house where they are -not fed and receive no wages. No landlord will allow a tenant to -occupy his property unless he pays rent. It may sound inhuman--but -it is only human." - -The cushion in which Feather's face was buried retained a faint -scent of Robert's cigar smoke and the fragrance brought back to her -things she had heard him say dispassionately about Lord Coombe as -well as about other men. He had not been a puritanic or condemnatory -person. She seemed to see herself groveling again on the floor -of her bedroom and to feel the darkness and silence through which -she had not dared to go to Robin. - -Not another night like that! No! No! - -"You must go to Jersey to your mother and father," Coombe said. -"A hundred a year will help you there in your own home." - -Then she sat upright and there was something in her lovely little -countenance he had never seen before. It was actually determination. - -"I have heard," she said, "of poor girls who were driven--by -starvation to--to go on the streets. I--would go ANYWHERE before -I would go back there." - -"Anywhere!" he repeated, his own countenance expressing--or rather -refusing to express something as new as the thing he had seen in -her own. - -"Anywhere!" she cried and then she did what he had thought her on -the verge of doing a few minutes earlier--she fell at his feet and -embraced his knees. She clung to him, she sobbed, her pretty hair -loosened itself and fell about her in wild but enchanting disorder. - -"Oh, Lord Coombe! Oh, Lord Coombe! Oh, Lord Coombe!" she cried as -she had cried in the hall. - -He rose and endeavoured to disengage himself as he had done before. -This time with less success because she would not let him go. He -had the greatest possible objection to scenes. - -"Mrs. Lawless--Feather--I beg you will get up," he said. - -But she had reached the point of not caring what happened if she -could keep him. He was a gentleman--he had everything in the world. -What did it matter? - -"I have no one but you and--and you always seemed to like me, I -would do anything--ANYONE asked me, if they would take care of me. -I have always liked you very much--and I did amuse you--didn't I? -You liked to come here." - -There was something poignant about her delicate distraught loveliness -and, in the remoteness of his being, a shuddering knowledge that -it was quite true that she would do anything for any man who would -take care of her, produced an effect on him nothing else would -have produced. Also a fantastic and finely ironic vision of Joseph -and Potiphar's wife rose before him and the vision of himself as -Joseph irked a certain complexness of his mentality. Poignant as -the thing was in its modern way, it was also faintly ridiculous. - -Then Robin awakened and shrieked again. The sound which had gained -strength through long sleep and also through added discomfort -quite rang through the house. What that sound added to the moment -he himself would not have been able to explain until long afterwards. -But it singularly and impellingly added. - -"Listen!" panted Feather. "She has begun again. And there is no -one to go to her." - -"Get up, Mrs. Lawless," he said. "Do I understand that you are -willing that _I_ arrange this for you!" - -He helped her to her feet. - -"Do you mean--really!" she faltered. "Will you--will you--?" - -Her uplifted eyes were like a young angel's brimming with crystal -drops which slipped--as a child's tears slip--down her cheeks. -She clasped her hands in exquisite appeal. He stood for a moment -quite still, his mind fled far away and he forgot where he was. -And because of this the little simpleton's shallow discretion -deserted her. - -"If you were a--a marrying man--?" she said foolishly--almost in -a whisper. - -He recovered himself. - -"I am not," with a finality which cut as cleanly as a surgical -knife. - -Something which was not the words was of a succinctness which -filled her with new terror. - -"I--I know!" she whimpered, "I only said if you were!" - -"If I were--in this instance--it would make no difference." He saw -the kind of slippery silliness he was dealing with and what it -might transform itself into if allowed a loophole. "There must be -no mistakes." - -In her fright she saw him for a moment more distinctly than she -had ever seen him before and hideous dread beset her lest she had -blundered fatally. - -"There shall be none," she gasped. "I always knew. There shall be -none at all." - -"Do you know what you are asking me?" he inquired. - -"Yes, yes--I'm not a girl, you know. I've been married. I won't -go home. I can't starve or live in awful lodgings. SOMEBODY must -save me!" - -"Do you know what people will say?" his steady voice was slightly -lower. - -"It won't be said to me." Rather wildly. "Nobody minds--really." - -He ceased altogether to look serious. He smiled with the light -detached air his world was most familiar with. - -"No--they don't really," he answered. "I had, however, a slight -preference for knowing whether you would or not. You flatter me -by intimating that you would not." - -He knew that if he had held out an arm she would have fallen upon -his breast and wept there, but he was not at the moment in the mood -to hold out an arm. He merely touched hers with a light pressure. - -"Let us sit down and talk it over," he suggested. - -A hansom drove up to the door and stopped before he had time to -seat himself. Hearing it he went to the window and saw a stout -businesslike looking man get out, accompanied by an attendant. -There followed a loud, authoritative ringing of the bell and an -equally authoritative rap of the knocker. This repeated itself. -Feather, who had run to the window and caught sight of the stout -man, clutched his sleeve. - -"It's the agent we took the house from. We always said we were -out. It's either Carson or Bayle. I don't know which." - -Coombe walked toward the staircase. - -"You can't open the door!" she shrilled. - -"He has doubtless come prepared to open it himself." he answered -and proceeded at leisure down the narrow stairway. - -The caller had come prepared. By the time Coombe stood in the hall -a latchkey was put in the keyhole and, being turned, the door -opened to let in Carson--or Bayle--who entered with an air of -angered determination, followed by his young man. - -The physical presence of the Head of the House of Coombe was always -described as a subtly impressive one. Several centuries of rather -careful breeding had resulted in his seeming to represent things -by silent implication. A man who has never found the necessity of -explaining or excusing himself inevitably presents a front wholly -unsuggestive of uncertainty. The front Coombe presented merely -awaited explanations from others. - -Carson--or Bayle--had doubtless contemplated seeing a frightened -servant trying to prepare a stammering obvious lie. He confronted -a tall, thin man about whom--even if his clothes had been totally -different--there could be no mistake. He stood awaiting an apology -so evidently that Carson--or Bayle--began to stammer himself -even before he had time to dismiss from his voice the suggestion -of bluster. It would have irritated Coombe immensely if he had -known that he--and a certain overcoat--had been once pointed out -to the man at Sandown and that--in consequence of the overcoat--he -vaguely recognized him. - -"I--I beg pardon," he began. - -"Quite so," said Coombe. - -"Some tenants came to look at the house this morning. They had an -order to view from us. They were sent away, my lord--and decline -to come back. The rent has not been paid since the first half -year. There is no one now who can even PRETEND it's going to be -paid. Some step had to be taken." - -"Quite so," said Coombe. "Suppose you step into the dining-room." - -He led the pair into the room and pointed to chairs, but neither -the agent nor his attendant was calm enough to sit down. - -Coombe merely stood and explained himself. - -"I quite understand," he said. "You are entirely within your -rights. Mrs. Gareth-Lawless is, naturally, not able to attend to -business. For the present--as a friend of her late husband's--I -will arrange matters for her. I am Lord Coombe. She does not wish -to give up the house. Don't send any more possible tenants. Call -at Coombe House in an hour and I will give you a cheque." - -There were a few awkward apologetic moments and then the front door -opened and shut, the hansom jingled away and Coombe returned to -the drawing-room. Robin was still shrieking. - -"She wants some more condensed milk," he said. "Don't be frightened. -Go and give her some. I know an elderly woman who understands -children. She was a nurse some years ago. I will send her here at -once. Kindly give me the account books. My housekeeper will send -you some servants. The trades-people will come for orders." - -Feather was staring at him. - -"W-will they?" she stammered. "W-will everything--?" - -"Yes--everything," he answered. "Don't be frightened. Go upstairs -and try to stop her. I must go now. I never heard a creature yell -with such fury." - -She turned away and went towards the second flight of stairs with -a rather dazed air. She had passed through a rather tremendous crisis -and she WAS dazed. He made her feel so. She had never understood -him for a moment and she did not understand him now--but then she -never did understand people and the whole situation was a new one -to her. If she had not been driven to the wall she would have been -quite as respectable as she knew how to be. - -Coombe called a hansom and drove home, thinking of many things -and looking even more than usually detached. He had remarked the -facial expression of the short and stout man as he had got into -his cab and he was turning over mentally his own exact knowledge of -the views the business mind would have held and what the business -countenance would have decently covered if he--Coombe--had explained -in detail that he was so far--in this particular case--an entirely -blameless character. - - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - - - - -The slice of a house from that time forward presented the external -aspect to which the inhabitants of the narrow and fashionable -street and those who passed through it had been accustomed. Such -individuals as had anticipated beholding at some early day notices -conspicuously placed announcing "Sale by Auction. Elegant Modern -Furniture" were vaguely puzzled as well as surprised by the fact -that no such notices appeared even inconspicuously. Also there -did not draw up before the door--even as the weeks went on--huge -and heavy removal vans with their resultant litter, their final -note of farewell a "To Let" in the front windows. - -On the contrary, the florist came and refilled the window boxes -with an admirable arrangement of fresh flowers; new and even more -correct servants were to be seen ascending and descending the area -step; a young footman quite as smart as the departed Edward opened -the front door and attended Mrs. Gareth-Lawless to her perfect -little brougham. The trades-people appeared promptly every day and -were obsequiously respectful in manner. Evidently the household -had not disintegrated as a result of the death of Mr. Gareth-Lawless. - -As it became an established fact that the household had not fallen to -pieces its frequenters gradually returned to it, wearing indeed -the air of people who had never really remained away from it. There -had been natural reasons enough for considerate absence from a -house of bereavement and a desolate widow upon whose grief it would -have been indelicate to intrude. As Feather herself had realized, -the circle of her intimates was not formed of those who could -readily adjust themselves to entirely changed circumstances. If -you dance on a tight rope and the rope is unexpectedly withdrawn, -where are you? You cannot continue dancing until the rope is -restrung. - -The rope, however, being apparently made absolutely secure, it -was not long before the dancing began again. Feather's mourning, -wonderfully shading itself from month to month, was the joy of all -beholders. Madame Helene treated her as a star gleaming through -gradually dispersing clouds. Her circle watched her with secretly -humorous interest as each fine veil of dimness was withdrawn. - -"The things she wears are priceless," was said amiably in her own -drawing-room. "Where does she get them? Figure to yourself Lawdor -paying the bills." - -"She gets them from Helene," said a long thin young man with -a rather good-looking narrow face and dark eyes, peering through -pince nez, "But I couldn't." - -In places where entertainment as a means of existence proceed so -to speak, fast and furiously, questions of taste are not dwelt -upon at leisure. You need not hesitate before saying anything you -liked in any one's drawing-room so long as it was amusing enough -to make somebody--if not everybody--laugh. Feather had made people -laugh in the same fashion in the past. The persons she most admired -were always making sly little impudent comments and suggestions, -and the thwarted years on the island of Jersey had, in her case, -resulted in an almost hectic desire to keep pace. Her efforts had -usually been successes because Nature's self had provided her with -the manner of a silly pretty child who did not know how far she -went. Shouts of laughter had often greeted her, and the first time -she had for a moment doubted her prowess was on an occasion when -she had caught a glimpse of Coombe who stared at her with an -expression which she would--just for one second--have felt might -be horror, if she had not been so sure it couldn't be, and must of -course be something else--one of the things nobody ever understood -in him. - -By the time the softly swathing veils of vaporous darkness were -withdrawn, and the tight rope assuring everyone of its permanent -security became a trusted support, Feather at her crowded little -parties and at other people's bigger ones did not remain wholly -unaware of the probability that even people who rather liked -her made, among themselves, more or less witty comments upon her -improved fortunes. They were improved greatly. Bills were paid, -trades-people were polite, servants were respectful; she had no -need to invent excuses and lies. She and Robert had always kept out -of the way of stodgy, critical people, so they had been intimate -with none of the punctilious who might have withdrawn themselves -from a condition of things they chose to disapprove: accordingly, -she found no gaps in her circle. Those who had formed the habit of -amusing themselves at her house were as ready as before to amuse -themselves again. - -The fact remained, however,--curiously, perhaps, in connection with -the usual slightness of all impressions made on her--that there -was a memory which never wholly left her. Even when she tried to -force it so far into the background of her existence that it might -almost be counted as forgotten, it had a trick of rising before -her. It was the memory of the empty house as its emptiness had -struck to the centre of her being when she had turned from her -bedroom window after watching the servants drive away in their -cabs. It was also the memory of the hours which had followed--the -night in which nobody had been in any of the rooms--no one had gone -up or down the stairs--when all had seemed dark and hollow--except -the Night Nursery where Robin screamed, and her own room where she -herself cowered under the bed clothes and pulled the pillow over -her head. But though the picture would not let itself be blotted -out, its effect was rather to intensify her sense of relief because -she had slipped so safely from under the wheels of destiny. - -"Sometimes," she revealed artlessly to Coombe, "while I am driving -in the park on a fine afternoon when every one is out and the -dresses look like the flower beds, I let myself remember it just -to make myself enjoy everything more by contrast." - -The elderly woman who had been a nurse in her youth and who had -been sent by Lord Coombe temporarily to replace Louisa had not -remained long in charge of Robin. She was not young and smart -enough for a house on the right side of the right street, and -Feather found a young person who looked exactly as she should when -she pushed the child's carriage before her around the square. - -The square--out of which the right street branches--and the "Gardens" -in the middle of the square to which only privileged persons were -admitted by private key, the basement kitchen and Servants' Hall, -and the two top floor nurseries represented the world to the -child Robin for some years. When she was old enough to walk in the -street she was led by the hand over the ground she had travelled -daily in her baby carriage. Her first memory of things was a memory -of standing on the gravel path in the Square Gardens and watching -some sparrows quarrel while Andrews, her nurse, sat on a bench -with another nurse and talked in low tones. They were talking in -a way Robin always connected with servants and which she naturally -accepted as being the method of expression of their species--much -as she accepted the mewing of cats and the barking of dogs. As -she grew older, she reached the stage of knowing that they were -generally saying things they did not wish her to hear. - -She liked watching the sparrows in the Gardens because she liked -watching sparrows at all times. They were the only friends she had -ever known, though she was not old enough to call them friends, -or to know what friends meant. Andrews had taught her, by means -of a system of her own, to know better than to cry or to make any -protesting noise when she was left alone in her ugly small nursery. -Andrews' idea of her duties did not involve boring herself to death -by sitting in a room on the top floor when livelier entertainment -awaited her in the basement where the cook was a woman of wide -experience, the housemaid a young person who had lived in gay -country houses, and the footman at once a young man of spirit -and humour. So Robin spent many hours of the day--taking them -altogether--quite by herself. She might have more potently resented -her isolations if she had ever known any other condition than -that of a child in whom no one was in the least interested and -in whom "being good" could only mean being passive under neglect -and calling no one's attention to the fact that she wanted anything -from anybody. As a bird born in captivity lives in its cage and -perhaps believes it to be the world, Robin lived in her nursery -and knew every square inch of it with a deadly if unconscious -sense of distaste and fatigue. She was put to bed and taken up, -she was fed and dressed in it, and once a day--twice perhaps if -Andrews chose--she was taken out of it downstairs and into the -street. That was all. And that was why she liked the sparrows so -much. - -And sparrows are worth watching if you live in a nursery where -nothing ever happens and where, when you look out, you are so high -up that it is not easy to see the people in the world below, in -addition to which it seems nearly always raining. Robin used to -watch them hopping about on the slate roofs of the homes on the -other side of the street. They fluttered their wings, they picked -up straws and carried them away. She thought they must have houses -of their own among the chimneys--in places she could not see. She -fancied it would be nice to hop about on the top of a roof oneself -if one were not at all afraid of falling. She liked the chippering -and chirping sounds the birds made became it sounded like talking -and laughing--like the talking and laughing she sometimes wakened -out of her sleep to lie and listen to when the Lady Downstairs had -a party. She often wondered what the people were doing because it -sounded as if they liked doing it very much. - -Sometimes when it had rained two or three days she had a feeling -which made her begin to cry to herself--but not aloud. She had -once had a little black and blue mark on her arm for a week where -Andrews had pinched her because she had cried loud enough to be -heard. It had seemed to her that Andrews twisted and pinched the -bit of flesh for five minutes without letting it go and she had -held her large hand over her mouth as she did it. - -"Now you keep that in your mind," she had said when she had finished -and Robin had almost choked in her awful little struggle to keep -back all sound. - -The one thing Andrews was surest of was that nobody would come -upstairs to the Nursery to inquire the meaning of any cries which -were not unearthly enough to disturb the household. So it was easy -to regulate the existence of her charge in such a manner as best -suited herself. - -"Just give her food enough and keep her from making silly noises -when she wants what she doesn't get," said Andrews to her companions -below stairs. "That one in the drawing-room isn't going to interfere -with the Nursery. Not her! I know my business and I know how to -manage her kind. I go to her politely now and then and ask her -permission to buy things from Best's or Liberty's or some other -good place. She always stares a minute when I begin, as if she -scarcely understood what I was talking about and then she says -'Oh, yes, I suppose she must have them.' And I go and get them. I -keep her as well dressed as any child in Mayfair. And she's been -a beauty since she was a year old so she looks first rate when I -wheel her up and down the street, so the people can see she's well -taken care of and not kept hidden away. No one can complain of her -looks and nobody is bothered with her. That's all that's wanted -of ME. I get good wages and I get them regular. I don't turn up -my nose at a place like this, whatever the outside talk is. Who -cares in these days anyway? Fashionable people's broader minded -than they used to be. In Queen Victoria's young days they tell -me servants were no class that didn't live in families where they -kept the commandments." - -"Fat lot the commandments give any one trouble in these times," -said Jennings, the footman, who was a wit. "There's one of 'em I -could mention that's been broken till there's no bits of it left -to keep. If I smashed that plate until it was powder it'd have -to be swept into the dust din. That's what happened to one or two -commandments in particular." - -"Well," remarked Mrs. Blayne, the cook, "she don't interfere and -he pays the bills prompt. That'll do ME instead of commandments. -If you'll believe me, my mother told me that in them Queen Victoria -days ladies used to inquire about cold meat and ask what was done -with the dripping. Civilisation's gone beyond that--commandments -or no commandments." - -"He's precious particular about bills being paid," volunteered -Jennings, with the air of a man of the world. "I heard him having -a row with her one day about some bills she hadn't paid. She'd -spent the money for some nonsense and he was pretty stiff in that -queer way of his. Quite right he was too. I'd have been the same -myself," pulling up his collar and stretching his neck in a manner -indicating exact knowledge of the natural sentiments of a Marquis -when justly annoyed. "What he intimated was that if them bills -was not paid with the money that was meant to pay them, the -money wouldn't be forthcoming the next time." Jennings was rather -pleased by the word "forthcoming" and therefore he repeated it -with emphasis, "It wouldn't be FORTHCOMING." - -"That'd frighten her," was Andrews' succinct observation. - -"It did!" said Jennings. "She'd have gone in hysterics if he hadn't -kept her down. He's got a way with him, Coombe has." - -Andrews laughed, a brief, dry laugh. - -"Do you know what the child calls her?" she said. "She calls her -the Lady Downstairs. She's got a sort of fancy for her and tries -to get peeps at her when we go out. I notice she always cranes -her little neck if we pass a room she might chance to be in. It's -her pretty clothes and her laughing that does it. Children's drawn -by bright colours and noise that sounds merry." - -"It's my belief the child doesn't know she IS her mother!" said -Mrs. Blayne as she opened an oven door to look at some rolls. - -"It's my belief that if I told her she was she wouldn't know what -the word meant. It was me she got the name from," Andrews still -laughed as she explained. "I used to tell her about the Lady -Downstairs would hear if she made a noise, or I'd say I'd let her -have a peep at the Lady Downstairs if she was very good. I saw -she had a kind of awe of her though she liked her so much, so it -was a good way of managing her. You mayn't believe me but for -a good bit I didn't take in that she didn't know there was such -things as mothers and, when I did take it in, I saw there wasn't -any use in trying to explain. She wouldn't have understood." - -"How would you go about to explain a mother, anyway?" suggested -Jennings. "I'd have to say that she was the person that had the -right to slap your head if you didn't do what she told you." - -"I'd have to say that she was the woman that could keep you slaving -at kitchen maid's work fifteen hours a day," said Mrs. Blayne; -"My mother was cook in a big house and trained me under her." - -"I never had one," said Andrews stiffly. The truth was that she -had taken care of eight infant brothers and sisters, while her -maternal parent slept raucously under the influence of beer when -she was not quarrelling with her offspring. - -Jane, the housemaid, had passed a not uncomfortable childhood in -the country and was perhaps of a soft nature. - -"I'd say that a mother's the one that you belong to and that's -fond of you, even if she does keep you straight," she put in. - -"Her mother isn't fond of her and doesn't keep herself straight," -said Jennings. "So that wouldn't do." - -"And she doesn't slap her head or teach her to do kitchen maid's -work," put in Mrs. Blayne, "so yours is no use, Mr. Jennings, and -neither is mine. Miss Andrews 'll have to cook up an explanation -of her own herself when she finds she has to." - -"She can get it out of a Drury Lane melodrama," said Jennings, with -great humour. "You'll have to sit down some night, Miss Andrews, -and say, 'The time has come, me chee-ild, when I must tell you -All'." - -In this manner were Mrs. Gareth-Lawless and her maternal affections -discussed below stairs. The interesting fact remained that to Robin -the Lady Downstairs was merely a radiant and beautiful being who -floated through certain rooms laughing or chattering like a bird, -and always wearing pretty clothes, which were different each time -one beheld her. Sometimes one might catch a glimpse of her through -a door, or, if one pressed one's face against the window pane at -the right moment, she might get into her bright little carnage in -the street below and, after Jennings had shut its door, she might -be seen to give a lovely flutter to her clothes as she settled -back against the richly dark blue cushions. - -It is a somewhat portentous thing to realize that a newborn -human creature can only know what it is taught. The teaching may -be conscious or unconscious, intelligent or idiotic, exquisite -or brutal. The images presented by those surrounding it, as its -perceptions awaken day by day, are those which record themselves -on its soul, its brain, its physical being which is its sole means -of expressing, during physical life, all it has learned. That -which automatically becomes the Law at the dawning of newborn -consciousness remains, to its understanding, the Law of Being, -the Law of the Universe. To the cautious of responsibility this -at times wears the aspect of an awesome thing, suggesting, however -remotely, that it might seem well, perhaps, to remove the shoes -from one's feet, as it were, and tread with deliberate and delicate -considering of one's steps, as do the reverently courteous even -on the approaching of an unknown altar. - -This being acknowledged a scientific, as well as a spiritual truth, -there remains no mystery in the fact that Robin at six years -old--when she watched the sparrows in the Square Gardens--did not -know the name of the feeling which had grown within her as a result -of her pleasure in the chance glimpses of the Lady Downstairs. It -was a feeling which made her eager to see her or anything which -belonged to her; it made her strain her child ears to catch the -sound of her voice; it made her long to hear Andrews or the other -servants speak of her, and yet much too shy to dare to ask any -questions. She had found a place on the staircase leading to the -Nursery, where, by squeezing against the balustrade, she could -sometimes see the Lady pass in and out of her pink bedroom. She -used to sit on a step and peer between the railing with beating -heart. Sometimes, after she had been put to bed for the night and -Andrews was safely entertained downstairs, Robin would be awakened -from her first sleep by sounds in the room below and would creep -out of bed and down to her special step and, crouching in a hectic -joy, would see the Lady come out with sparkling things in her hair -and round her lovely, very bare white neck and arms, all swathed -in tints and draperies which made her seem a vision of colour and -light. She was so radiant a thing that often the child drew in -her breath with a sound like a little sob of ecstasy, and her lip -trembled as if she were going to cry. But she did not know that what -she felt was the yearning of a thing called love--a quite simple -and natural common thing of which she had no reason for having -any personal knowledge. As she was unaware of mothers, so she was -unaware of affection, of which Andrews would have felt it to be -superfluously sentimental to talk to her. - -On the very rare occasions when the Lady Downstairs appeared on -the threshold of the Day Nursery, Robin--always having been freshly -dressed in one of her nicest frocks--stood and stared with immense -startled eyes and answered in a whisper the banal little questions -put to her. The Lady appeared at such rare intervals and remained -poised upon the threshold like a tropic plumaged bird for moments -so brief, that there never was time to do more than lose breath and -gaze as at a sudden vision. Why she came--when she did come--Robin -did not understand. She evidently did not belong to the small, -dingy nurseries which grew shabbier every year as they grew steadily -more grimy under the persistent London soot and fogs. - -Feather always held up her draperies when she came. She would not -have come at all but for the fact that she had once or twice been -asked if the child was growing pretty, and it would have seemed -absurd to admit that she never saw her at all. - -"I think she's rather pretty," she said downstairs. "She's round -and she has a bright colour--almost too bright, and her eyes are -round too. She's either rather stupid or she's shy--and one's as -bad as the other. She's a child that stares." - -If, when Andrews had taken her into the Gardens, she had played -with other children, Robin would no doubt have learned something -of the existence and normal attitude of mothers through the -mere accident of childish chatter, but it somehow happened that -she never formed relations with the charges of other nurses. She -took it for granted for some time that this was because Andrews -had laid down some mysterious law. Andrews did not seem to form -acquaintances herself. Sometimes she sat on a bench and talked -a little to another nurse, but she seldom sat twice with the same -person. It was indeed generally her custom to sit alone, crocheting -or sewing, with a rather lofty and exclusive air and to call Robin -back to her side if she saw her slowly edging towards some other -child. - -"My rule is to keep myself to myself," she said in the kitchen. -"And to look as if I was the one that would turn up noses, if -noses was to be turned up. There's those that would snatch away -their children if I let Robin begin to make up to them. Some -wouldn't, of course, but I'm not going to run risks. I'm going to -save my own pride." - -But one morning when Robin was watching her sparrows, a nurse, -who was an old acquaintance, surprised Andrews by appearing in the -Gardens with two little girls in her charge. They were children -of nine and eleven and quite sufficient for themselves, apart from -the fact that they regarded Robin as a baby and, therefore, took -no notice of her. They began playing with skipping ropes, which -left their nurse free to engage in delighted conversation with -Andrews. - -It was conversation so delightful that Robin was forgotten, even -to the extent of being allowed to follow her sparrows round a -clump of shrubbery and, therefore, out of Andrews' sight, though -she was only a few yards away. The sparrows this morning were -quarrelsome and suddenly engaged in a fight, pecking each other -furiously, beating their wings and uttering shrill, protesting -chipperings. Robin did not quite understand what they were doing -and stood watching them with spellbound interest. - -It was while she watched them that she heard footsteps on the -gravel walk which stopped near her and made her look up to see who -was at her side. A big boy in Highland kilts and bonnet and sporan -was standing by her, and she found herself staring into a pair of -handsome deep blue eyes, blue like the waters of a hillside tarn. -They were wide, glowing, friendly eyes and none like them had ever -looked into hers before. He seemed to her to be a very big boy -indeed, and in fact, he was unusually tall and broad for his age, -but he was only eight years old and a simple enough child pagan. -Robin's heart began to beat as it did when she watched the Lady -Downstairs, but there was something different in the beating. It -was something which made her red mouth spread and curve itself into -a smile which showed all her small teeth. - -So they stood and stared at each other and for some strange, strange -reason--created, perhaps, with the creating of Man and still hidden -among the deep secrets of the Universe--they were drawn to each -other--wanted each other--knew each other. Their advances were, of -course, of the most primitive--as primitive and as much a matter -of instinct as the nosing and sniffing of young animals. He spread -and curved his red mouth and showed the healthy whiteness of his -own handsome teeth as she had shown her smaller ones. Then he began -to run and prance round in a circle, capering like a Shetland pony -to exhibit at once his friendliness and his prowess. He tossed his -curled head and laughed to make her laugh also, and she not only -laughed but clapped her hands. He was more beautiful than anything -she had ever seen before in her life, and he was plainly trying -to please her. No child creature had ever done anything like it -before, because no child creature had ever been allowed by Andrews -to make friends with her. He, on his part, was only doing what -any other little boy animal would have done--expressing his child -masculinity by "showing off" before a little female. But to this -little female it had never happened before. - -It was all beautifully elemental. As does not too often happen, -two souls as well as two bodies were drawn towards each other by -the Magnet of Being. When he had exhibited himself for a minute -or two he came back to her, breathing fast and glowing. - -"My pony in Scotland does that. His name is Chieftain. He is a -Shetland pony and he is only that high," he measured forty inches -from the ground. "I'm called Donal. What are you called?" - -"Robin," she answered, her lips and voice trembling with joy. He -was so beautiful. His hair was bright and curly. His broad forehead -was clear white where he had pushed back his bonnet with the eagle -feather standing upright on it. His strong legs and knees were -white between his tartan kilt and his rolled back stockings. The -clasps which held his feather and the plaid over his shoulder were -set with fine stones in rich silver. She did not know that he was -perfectly equipped as a little Highland chieftain, the head of -his clan, should be. - -They began to play together, and the unknown Fates, which do their -work as they choose, so wrought on this occasion as to cause -Andrews' friend to set forth upon a journey through a story so -exciting in its nature that its hearer was held spellbound and -oblivious to her surroundings themselves. Once, it is true, she -rose as in a dream and walked round the group of shrubs, but the -Fates had arranged for that moment also. Robin was alone and was -busily playing with some leaves she had plucked and laid on the -seat of a bench for some mysterious reason. She looked good for -an hour's safe occupation, and Andrews returned to her friend's -detailed and intimate version of a great country house scandal, -of which the papers were full because it had ended in the divorce -court. - -Donal had, at that special moment, gone to pick some of the biggest -leaves from the lilac bush of which the Gardens contained numerous -sooty specimens. The leaves Robin was playing with were some he -had plucked first to show her a wonderful thing. If you laid a leaf -flat on the seat of the bench and were fortunate enough to possess -a large pin you could prick beautiful patterns on the leaf's -greenness--dots and circles, and borders and tiny triangles of a -most decorative order. Neither Donal nor Robin had a pin but Donal -had, in his rolled down stocking, a little dirk the point of which -could apparently be used for any interesting purpose. It was really -he who did the decoration, but Robin leaned against the bench and -looked on enthralled. She had never been happy before in the entire -course of her brief existence. She had not known or expected any -conditions other than those she was familiar with--the conditions -of being fed and clothed, kept clean and exercised, but totally -unloved and unentertained. She did not even know that this nearness -to another human creature, the exchange of companionable looks, -which were like flashes of sunlight, the mutual outbreaks of child -laughter and pleasure were happiness. To her, what she felt, the -glow and delight of it, had no name but she wanted it to go on -and on, never to be put an end to by Andrews or anyone else. - -The boy Donal was not so unconscious. He had been happy all his -life. What he felt was that he had liked this little girl the -minute he saw her. She was pretty, though he thought her immensely -younger than himself, and, when she had looked up at him with her -round, asking eyes, he had wanted to talk to her and make friends. -He had not played much with boys and he had no haughty objection -to girls who liked him. This one did, he saw at once. - -Through what means children so quickly convey to each other--while -seeming scarcely to do more than play--the entire history of their -lives and surroundings, is a sort of occult secret. It is not a -matter of prolonged conversation. Perhaps images created by the -briefest of unadorned statements produce on the unwritten tablets -of the child mind immediate and complete impressions. Safe as -the locked garden was, Andrews cannot have forgotten her charge -for any very great length of time and yet before Donal, hearing -his attendant's voice from her corner, left Robin to join her and -be taken home, the two children knew each other intimately. Robin -knew that Donal's home was in Scotland--where there are hills and -moors with stags on them. He lived there with "Mother" and he had -been brought to London for a visit. The person he called "Mother" -was a woman who took care of him and he spoke of her quite often. -Robin did not think she was like Andrews, though she did not in -the least know why. On his part Donal knew about the nurseries -and the sparrows who hopped about on the slates of the houses -opposite. Robin did not describe the nurseries to him, but Donal -knew that they were ugly and that there were no toys in them and -nothing to do. Also, in some mystic fashion, he realized that -Andrews would not let Robin play with him if she saw them together, -and that, therefore, they must make the most of their time. Full -of their joy in each other, they actually embarked upon an ingenious -infant intrigue, which involved their trying to meet behind the -shrubs if they were brought to the Gardens the next day. Donal was -sure he could come because his nurse always did what he asked of -her. He was so big now that she was not a real nurse, but she had -been his nurse when he was quite little and "Mother" liked her -to travel with them. He had a tutor but he had stayed behind in -Scotland at Braemarnie, which was their house. Donal would come -tomorrow and he would look for Robin and when she saw him she must -get away from Andrews and they would play together again. - -"I will bring one of my picture books," he said grandly. "Can you -read at all?" - -"No," answered Robin adoring him. "What are picture books?" - -"Haven't you any?" he blurted out. - -"No," said Robin. She looked at the gravel walk, reflecting a -moment thoughtfully on the Day Nursery and the Night Nursery. Then -she lifted her eyes to the glowing blueness of his and said quite -simply, "I haven't anything." - -He suddenly remembered things his Mother had told him about poor -people. Perhaps she was poor. Could she be poor when her frock -and hat and coat were so pretty? It was not polite to ask. But the -thought made him love her more. He felt something warm rush all -over his body. The truth, if he had been old enough to be aware of -it, was that the entire simpleness of her acceptance of things as -they were, and a something which was unconsciousness of any cause -for complaint, moved his child masculinity enormously. His old -nurse's voice came from her corner again. - -"I must go to Nanny," he said, feeling somehow as if he had been -running fast. "I'll come tomorrow and bring two picture books." - -He was a loving, warm blooded child human thing, and the expression -of affection was, to him, a familiar natural impulse. He put his -strong little eight-year-old arms round her and kissed her full -on her mouth, as he embraced her with all his strength. He kissed -her twice. - -It was the first time for Robin. Andrews did not kiss. There was -no one else. It was the first time, and Nature had also made her -a loving, warm blooded, human thing. How beautiful he was--how -big--how strong his arms were--and how soft and warm his mouth -felt. She stood and gazed at him with wide asking eyes and laughed a -little. She had no words because she did not know what had happened. - -"Don't you like to be kissed?" said Donal, uncertain because she -looked so startled and had not kissed him back. - -"Kissed," she repeated, with a small, caught breath, "ye-es." She -knew now what it was. It was being kissed. She drew nearer at once -and lifted up her face as sweetly and gladly, as a flower lifts -itself to the sun. "Kiss me again," she said quite eagerly. As -ingenuously and heartily as before, he kissed her again and, this -time, she kissed too. When he ran quickly away, she stood looking -after him with smiling, trembling lips, uplifted, joyful--wondering -and amazed. - - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - - - - -When she went back to Andrews she carried the pricked leaves with -her. She could not have left them behind. From what source she -had drawn a characterizing passionate, though silent, strength of -mind and body, it would be difficult to explain. Her mind and her -emotions had been left utterly unfed, but they were not of the inert -order which scarcely needs feeding. Her feeling for the sparrows -had held more than she could have expressed; her secret adoration -of the "Lady Downstairs" was an intense thing. Her immediate -surrender to the desire in the first pair of human eyes--child eyes -though they were--which had ever called to her being for response, -was simple and undiluted rapture. She had passed over her little -soul without a moment's delay and without any knowledge of the -giving. It had flown from her as a bird might fly from darkness -into the sun. Eight-year-old Donal was the sun. - -No special tendency to innate duplicity was denoted by the fact -that she had acquired, through her observation of Andrews, Jennings, -Jane and Mrs. Blayne, the knowledge that there were things it was -best not to let other people know. You were careful about them. -From the occult communications between herself and Donal, which -had resulted in their intrigue, there had of course evolved a -realizing sense of the value of discretion. She did not let Andrews -see the decorated leaves, but put them into a small pocket in her -coat. Her Machiavellian intention was to slip them out when she -was taken up to the Nursery. Andrews was always in a hurry to go -downstairs to her lunch and she would be left alone and could find -a place where she could hide them. - -Andrews' friend started when Robin drew near to them. The child's -cheeks and lips were the colour of Jacqueminot rose petals. Her -eyes glowed with actual rapture. - -"My word! That's a beauty if I ever saw one," said the woman. -"First sight makes you jump. My word!" - -Robin, however, did not know what she was talking about and in -fact scarcely heard her. She was thinking of Donal. She thought -of him as she was taken home, and she did not cease thinking of -him during the whole rest of the day and far into the night. When -Andrews left her, she found a place to hide the pricked leaves and -before she put them away she did what Donal had done to her--she -kissed them. She kissed them several times because they were Donal's -leaves and he had made the stars and lines on them. It was almost -like kissing Donal but not quite so beautiful. - -After she was put to bed at night and Andrews left her she lay -awake for a long time. She did not want to go to sleep because -everything seemed so warm and wonderful and she could think and -think and think. What she thought about was Donal's face, his -delightful eyes, his white forehead with curly hair pushed back -with his Highland bonnet. His plaid swung about when he ran and -jumped. When he held her tight the buttons of his jacket hurt her -a little because they pressed against her body. What was "Mother" -like? Did he kiss her? What pretty stones there were in his clasps -and buckles! How nice it was to hear him laugh and how fond he -was of laughing. Donal! Donal! Donal! He liked to play with her -though she was a girl and so little. He would play with her tomorrow. -His cheeks were bright pink, his hair was bright, his eyes were -bright. He was all bright. She tried to see into the blueness of -his eyes again as it seemed when they looked at each other close -to. As she began to see the clear colour she fell asleep. - -The power which had on the first morning guided Robin to the -seclusion behind the clump of shrubs and had provided Andrews with -an enthralling companion, extended, the next day, an even more -beneficient and complete protection. Andrews was smitten with a -cold so alarming as to confine her to bed. Having no intention of -running any risks, whatsoever, she promptly sent for a younger -sister who, temporarily being "out of place", came into the house -as substitute. She was a pretty young woman who assumed no special -responsibilities and was fond of reading novels. - -"She's been trained to be no trouble, Anne. She'll amuse herself -without bothering you as long as you keep her out," Andrews said -of Robin. - -Anne took "Lady Audley's Secret" with her to the Gardens and, -having led her charge to a shady and comfortable seat which exactly -suited her, she settled herself for a pleasant morning. - -"Now, you can play while I read," she said to Robin. - -As they had entered the Gardens they had passed, not far from the -gate, a bench on which sat a highly respectable looking woman who -was hemming a delicate bit of cambric, and evidently in charge of -two picture books which lay on the seat beside her. A fine boy in -Highland kilts was playing a few yards away. Robin felt something -like a warm flood rush over her and her joy was so great and -exquisite that she wondered if Anne felt her hand trembling. Anne -did not because she was looking at a lady getting into a carriage -across the street. - -The marvel of that early summer morning in the gardens of a -splendid but dingy London square thing was not a thing for which -human words could find expression. It was not an earthly thing, -or, at least, not a thing belonging to an earth grown old. A child -Adam and Eve might have known something like it in the Garden of -Eden. It was as clear and simple as spring water and as warm as -the sun. - -Anne's permission to "play" once given, Robin found her way behind -the group of lilacs and snowballs. Donal would come, not only -because he was so big that Nanny would let him do what he wanted -to do, but because he would do everything and anything in the -world. Donal! Donal! Her heart was a mere baby's heart but it -beat as if she were seventeen--beat with pure rapture. He was all -bright and he would laugh and laugh. - -The coming was easy enough for Donal. He had told his mother and -Nanny rejoicingly about the little girl he had made friends with -and who had no picture books. But he did not come straight to -her. He took his picture books under his arm, and showing all his -white teeth in a joyous grin, set out to begin their play properly -with a surprise. He did not let her see him coming but "stalked" -her behind the trees and bushes until he found where she was -waiting, and then thrust his face between the branches of a tall -shrub near her and laughed the outright laugh she loved. And when -she turned she was looking straight into the clear blue she had -tried to see when she fell asleep. "Donal! Donal!" she cried like -a little bird with but one note. - -The lilac and the snowball were in blossom and there was a big -hawthorn tree which smelt sweet and sweet. They could not see the -drift of smuts on the blossoms, they only smelled the sweetness -and sat under the hawthorn and sniffed and sniffed. The sun was -deliciously warm and a piano organ was playing beautifully not -far away. They sat close to each other, so close that the picture -book could lie open on both pairs of knees and the warmth of each -young body penetrated the softness of the other. Sometimes Donal -threw an arm around her as she bent over the page. Love and -caresses were not amazements to him; he accepted them as parts of -the normal joy of life. To Robin they were absolute wonder. The -pictures were delight and amazement in one. Donal knew all about -them and told her stories. She felt that such splendour could have -emanated only from him. It could not occur to her that he had not -invented them and made the pictures. He showed her Robinson Crusoe -and Robin Hood. The scent of the hawthorn and lilac intoxicated -them and they laughed tremendously because Robin Hood's name was -like Robin's own and he was a man and she was a girl. They could -scarcely stop laughing and Donal rolled over and over on the grass, -half from unconquerable high spirits and half to make Robin laugh -still more. - -He had some beautiful coloured glass marbles in his pocket -and he showed her how to play with them, and gave her two of the -prettiest. He could shoot them over the ground in a way to thrill -the beholder. He could hop on one leg as far as he liked. He could -read out of books. - -"Do you like me?" he said once in a pause between displays of his -prowess. - -Robin was kneeling upon the grass watching him and she clasped -her little hands as if she were uttering a prayer. - -"Oh, yes, yes!" she yearned. "Yes! Yes!" - -"I like you," he answered; "I told my mother all about you." - -He came to her and knelt by her side. - -"Have you a mother?" he asked. - -"No," shaking her head. - -"Do you live with your aunt?" - -"No, I don't live with anybody." - -He looked puzzled. - -"Isn't there any lady in your house?" he put it to her. She -brightened a little, relieved to think she had something to tell -him. - -"There's the Lady Downstairs," she said. "She's so pretty--so -pretty." - -"Is she----" he stopped and shook his head. "She couldn't be your -mother," he corrected himself. "You'd know about HER." - -"She wears pretty clothes. Sometimes they float about and sparkle -and she wears little crowns on her head--or flowers. She laughs," -Robin described eagerly. "A great many people come to see her. -They all laugh. Sometimes they sing. I lie in bed and listen." - -"Does she ever come upstairs to the Nursery?" inquired Donal with -a somewhat reflective air. - -"Yes. She comes and stands near the door and says, 'Is she quite -well, Andrews?' She does not laugh then. She--she LOOKS at me." - -She stopped there, feeling suddenly that she wished very much that -she had more to tell. What she was saying was evidently not very -satisfactory. He seemed to expect more--and she had no more to -give. A sense of emptiness crept upon her and for no reason she -understood there was a little click in her throat. - -"Does she only stand near the door?" he suggested, as one putting -the situation to a sort of crucial test. "Does she never sit on a -big chair and take you on her knee?" - -"No, no," in a dropped voice. "She will not sit down. She says -the chairs are grubby." - -"Doesn't she LOVE you at all?" persisted Donal. "Doesn't she KISS -you?" - -There was a thing she had known for what seemed to her a long -time--God knows in what mysterious fashion she had learned it, -but learned it well she had. That no human being but herself was -aware of her knowledge was inevitable. To whom could she have -told it? But Donal--Donal wanted to know all about her. The little -click made itself felt in her throat again. - -"She--she doesn't LIKE me!" Her dropped voice was the whisper of -one humbled to the dust by confession, "She--doesn't LIKE me!" -And the click became another thing which made her put up her arm -over her eyes--her round, troubled child eyes, which, as she had -looked into Donal's, had widened with sudden, bewildered tears. - -Donal flung his arms round her and squeezed his buttons into her -tender chest. He hugged her close; he kissed her; there was a -choking in his throat. He was hot all over. - -"She does like you. She must like you. I'll make her!" he cried -passionately. "She's not your mother. If she was, she'd LOVE you! -She'd LOVE you!" - -"Do Mothers l-love you?" the small voice asked with a half sob. -"What's--what's LOVE you?" It was not vulgar curiosity. She only -wanted to find out. - -He loosed his embrace, sitting back on his heels to stare. - -"Don't you KNOW?" - -She shook her head with soft meekness. - -"N-no," she answered. - -Big boys like himself did not usually play with such little -girls. But something had drawn him to her at their first moment -of encounter. She wasn't like any other little girls. He felt it -all the time and that was part of the thing which drew him. He -was not, of course, aware that the male thrill at being regarded -as one who is a god had its power over the emotions. She wasn't -making silly fun and pretending. She really didn't know--because -she was different. - -"It's liking very much. It's more," he explained. "My mother loves -ME. I--I LOVE you!" stoutly. "Yes, I LOVE you. That's why I kissed -you when you cried." - -She was so uplifted, so overwhelmed with adoring gratitude that as -she knelt on the grass she worshipped him. - -"I love YOU," she answered him. "I LOVE you--LOVE you!" And she -looked at him with such actual prayerfulness that he caught at her -and, with manly promptness, kissed her again--this being mere Nature. - -Because he was eight years old and she was six her tears flashed -away and they both laughed joyously as they sat down on the grass -again to talk it over. - -He told her all the pleasant things he knew about Mothers. The -world was full of them it seemed--full. You belong to them from -the time you were a baby. He had not known many personally because -he had always lived at Braemarnie, which was in the country in -Scotland. There were no houses near his home. You had to drive -miles and miles before you came to a house or a castle. He had not -seen much of other children except a few who lived at the Manse -and belonged to the minister. Children had fathers as well as -mothers. Fathers did not love you or take care of you quite as -much as Mothers--because they were men. But they loved you too. -His own father had died when he was a baby. His mother loved him -as much as he loved her. She was beautiful but--it seemed to reveal -itself--not like the Lady Downstairs. She did not laugh very much, -though she laughed when they played together. He was too big now -to sit on her knee, but squeezed into the big chair beside her when -she read or told him stories. He always did what his mother told -him. She knew everything in the world and so knew what he ought to -do. Even when he was a big man he should do what his mother told -him. - -Robin listened to every word with enraptured eyes and bated breath. -This was the story of Love and Life and it was the first time she -had ever heard it. It was as much a revelation as the Kiss. She -had spent her days in the grimy Nursery and her one close intimate -had been a bony woman who had taught her not to cry, employing -the practical method of terrifying her into silence by pinching -her--knowing it was quite safe to do it. It had not been necessary -to do it often. She had seen people on the streets, but she had -only seen them in passing by. She had not watched them as she had -watched the sparrows. When she was taken down for a few minutes -into the basement, she vaguely knew that she was in the way and that -Mrs. Blayne's and Andrews' and Jennings' low voices and occasional -sidelong look meant that they were talking about her and did not -want her to hear. - -"I have no mother and no father," she explained quite simply to -Donal. "No one kisses me." - -"No one!" Donal said, feeling curious. "Has no one ever kissed you -but me?" - -"No," she answered. - -Donal laughed--because children always laugh when they do not know -what else to do. - -"Was that why you looked as if you were frightened when I said -good-bye to you yesterday?" - -"I-I didn't know," said Robin, laughing a little too--but not very -much, "I wasn't frightened. I liked you." - -"I'll kiss you as often as you want me to," he volunteered nobly. -"I'm used to it--because of my mother. I'll kiss you again now." -And he did it quite without embarrassment. It was a sort of manly -gratuity. - -Once Anne, with her book in her hand, came round the shrubs to -see how her charge was employing herself, and seeing her looking -at pictures with a handsomely dressed companion, she returned to -"Lady Audley's Secret" feeling entirely safe. - -The lilac and the hawthorn tree continued to breathe forth warmed -scents of paradise in the sunshine, the piano organ went on playing, -sometimes nearer, sometimes farther away, but evidently finding -the neighbourhood a desirable one. Sometimes the children laughed -at each other, sometimes at pictures Donal showed, or stories he -told, or at his own extreme wit. The boundaries were removed from -Robin's world. She began to understand that there was another -larger one containing wonderful and delightful things she had -known nothing about. Donal was revealing it to her in everything -he said even when he was not aware that he was telling her anything. -When Eve was formed from the rib of Adam the information it was -necessary for him to give her regarding her surroundings must have -filled her with enthralling interest and a reverence which adored. -The planted enclosure which was the central feature of the soot -sprinkled, stately London Square was as the Garden of Eden. - - * * * * * - -The Garden of Eden it remained for two weeks. Andrews' cold was -serious enough to require a doctor and her sister Anne continued -to perform their duties. The weather was exceptionally fine and, -being a vain young woman, she liked to dress Robin in her pretty -clothes and take her out because she was a beauty and attracted -attention to her nurse as well as to herself. Mornings spent -under the trees reading were entirely satisfactory. Each morning -the children played together and each night Robin lay awake and -lived again the delights of the past hours. Each day she learned -more wonders and her young mind and soul were fed. There began to -stir in her brain new thoughts and the beginning of questioning. -Scotland, Braemarnie, Donal's mother, even the Manse and the children -in it, combined to form a world of enchantment. There were hills -with stags living in them, there were moors with purple heather and -yellow brome and gorse; birds built their nests under the bushes -and Donal's pony knew exactly where to step even in the roughest -places. There were two boys and two girls at the Manse and they -had a father and a mother. These things were enough for a new heaven -and a new earth to form themselves around. The centre of the whole -Universe was Donal with his strength and his laugh and his eyes -which were so alive and glowing that she seemed always to see them. -She knew nothing about the thing which was their somehow--not-to-be-denied -allure. They were ASKING eyes--and eyes which gave. The boy was -in truth a splendid creature. His body and beauty were perfect life -and joyous perfect living. His eyes asked other eyes for everything. -"Tell me more," they said. "Tell me more! Like me! Answer me! Let -us give each other everything in the world." He had always been -well, he had always been happy, he had always been praised and -loved. He had known no other things. - -During the first week in which the two children played together, -his mother, whose intense desire it was to understand him, observed -in him a certain absorption of mood when he was not talking or -amusing himself actively. He began to fall into a habit of standing -at the windows, often with his chin in his hand, looking out as if -he were so full of thought that he saw nothing. It was not an old -habit, it was a new one. - -"What are you thinking about, Donal?" she asked one afternoon. - -He seemed to awaken, as it were, when he heard her. He turned -about with his alluring smile. - -"I am thinking it is FUNNY," he said. "It is funny that I should -like such a little girl such a lot. She is years and years younger -than I am. But I like her so. It is such fun to tell her things." -He marched over to his mother's writing table and leaned against -it. What his mother saw was that he had an impassioned desire -to talk about this child. She felt it was a desire even a trifle -abnormal in its eagerness. - -"She has such a queer house, I think," he explained. "She has a -nurse and such pretty clothes and she is so pretty herself, but -I don't believe she has any toys or books in her nursery." - -"Where is her mother?" - -"She must be dead. There is no lady in her house but the Lady -Downstairs. She is very pretty and is always laughing. But she is -not her mother because she doesn't like her and she never kisses -her. I think that's the queerest thing of all. No one had EVER -kissed her till I did." - -His mother was a woman given to psychological analysis. Her eyes -began to dwell on his face with slightly anxious questioning. - -"Did you kiss her?" she inquired. - -"Yes. I kissed her when I said good morning the first day. I thought -she didn't like me to do it but she did. It was only because no -one had ever done it before. She likes it very much." - -He leaned farther over the writing table and began to pour forth, -his smile growing and his eyes full of pleasure. His mother was -a trifle alarmedly struck by the feeling that he was talking like -a young man in love who cannot keep his tongue still, though in -his case even the youngest manhood was years away, and he made no -effort to conceal his sentiments which a young man would certainly -have striven to do. - -"She's got such a pretty little face and such a pretty mouth and -cheeks," he touched a Jacqueminot rose in a vase. "They are the -colour of that. Today a robin came with the sparrows and hopped -about near us. We laughed and laughed because her eyes are like -the robin's, and she is called Robin. I wish you would come into -the Gardens and see her, mother. She likes everything I do." - -"I must come, dear," she answered. - -"Nanny thinks she is lovely," he announced. "She says I am in love -with her. Am I, mother?" - -"You are too young to be in love," she said. "And even when you -are older you must not fall in love with people you know nothing -about." - -It was an unconscious bit of Scotch cautiousness which she at once -realized was absurd and quite out of place. But--! - -She realized it because he stood up and squared his shoulders in -an odd young-mannish way. He had not flushed even faintly before -and now a touch of colour crept under his fair skin. - -"But I DO love her," he said. "I DO. I can't stop." And though he -was quite simple and obviously little boy-like, she actually felt -frightened for a moment. - - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - - - - -On the afternoon of the day upon which this occurred, Coombe was -standing in Feather's drawing-room with a cup of tea in his hand -and wearing the look of a man who is given up to reflection. - -"I saw Mrs. Muir today for the first time for several years," he -said after a silence. "She is in London with the boy." - -"Is she as handsome as ever?" - -"Quite. Hers is not the beauty that disappears. It is line and -bearing and a sort of splendid grace and harmony." - -"What is the boy like?" - -Coombe reflected again before he answered. - -"He is--amazing. One so seldom sees anything approaching physical -perfection that it strikes one a sort of blow when one comes upon -it suddenly face to face." - -"Is he as beautiful as all that?" - -"The Greeks used to make statues of bodies like his. They often -called them gods--but not always. The Creative Intention plainly -was that all human beings should be beautiful and he is the -expression of it." - -Feather was pretending to embroider a pink flower on a bit of -gauze and she smiled vaguely. - -"I don't know what you mean," she admitted with no abasement of -spirit, "but if ever there was any Intention of that kind it has -not been carried out." Her smile broke into a little laugh as she -stuck her needle into her work. "I'm thinking of Henry," she let -drop in addition. - -"So was I, it happened," answered Coombe after a second or so of -pause. - -Henry was the next of kin who was--to Coombe's great objection--his -heir presumptive, and was universally admitted to be a repulsive -sort of person both physically and morally. He had brought into -the world a weakly and rickety framework and had from mere boyhood -devoted himself to a life which would have undermined a Hercules. -A relative may so easily present the aspect of an unfortunate incident -over which one has no control. This was the case with Henry. His -character and appearance were such that even his connection with -an important heritage was not enough to induce respectable persons -to accept him in any form. But if Coombe remained without issue -Henry would be the Head of the House. - -"How is his cough?" inquired Feather. - -"Frightful. He is an emaciated wreck and he has no physical cause -for remaining alive." - -Feather made three or four stitches. - -"Does Mrs. Muir know?" she said. - -"If Mrs. Muir is conscious of his miserable existence, that is -all," he answered. "She is not the woman to inquire. Of course -she cannot help knowing that--when he is done with--her boy takes -his place in the line of succession." - -"Oh, yes, she'd know that," put in Feather. - -It was Coombe who smiled now--very faintly. - -"You have a mistaken view of her," he said. - -"You admire her very much," Feather bridled. The figure of this -big Scotch creature with her "line" and her "splendid grace and -harmony" was enough to make one bridle. - -"She doesn't admire me," said Coombe. "She is not proud of me as -a connection. She doesn't really want the position for the boy, -in her heart of hearts." - -"Doesn't want it!" Feather's exclamation was a little jeer only -because she would not have dared a big one. - -"She is Scotch Early Victorian in some things and extremely advanced -in others," he went on. "She has strong ideas of her own as to -how he shall be brought up. She's rather Greek in her feeling for -his being as perfect physically and mentally as she can help him -to be. She believes things. It was she who said what you did not -understand--about the Creative Intention." - -"I suppose she is religious," Feather said. "Scotch people often -are but their religion isn't usually like that. Creative Intention's -a new name for God, I suppose. I ought to know all about God. I've -heard enough about Him. My father was not a clergyman but he was -very miserable, and it made him so religious that he was ALMOST -one. We were every one of us christened and catechized and confirmed -and all that. So God's rather an old story." - -"Queer how old--from Greenland's icy mountains to India's coral -strand," said Coombe. "It's an ancient search--that for the -Idea--whether it takes form in metal or wood or stone." - -"Well," said Feather, holding her bit of gauze away from her -the better to criticize the pink flower. "As ALMOST a clergyman's -daughter I must say that if there is one thing God didn't do, it -was to fill the world with beautiful people and things as if it -was only to be happy in. It was made to--to try us by suffering -and--that sort of thing. It's a-a--what d'ye call it? Something -beginning with P." - -"Probation," suggested Coombe regarding her with an expression of -speculative interest. Her airy bringing forth of her glib time-worn -little scraps of orthodoxy--as one who fished them out of a bag of -long-discarded remnants of rubbish--was so true to type that it -almost fascinated him for a moment. - -"Yes. That's it--probation," she answered. "I knew it began with -a P. It means 'thorny paths' and 'seas of blood' and, if you are -religious, you 'tread them with bleeding feet--' or swim them as -the people do in hymns. And you praise and glorify all the time -you're doing it. Of course, I'm not religious myself and I can't -say I think it's pleasant--but I do KNOW! Every body beautiful -and perfect indeed! That's not religion--it's being irreligious. -Good gracious, think of the cripples and lepers and hunchbacks!" - -"And the idea is that God made them all--by way of entertaining -himself?" he put it to her quietly. - -"Well, who else did?" said Feather cheerfully. - -"I don't know," he said. "Certain things I heard Mrs. Muir say -suggested to one that it might be interesting to think it out." - -"Did she talk to you about God at afternoon tea?" said Feather. -"It's the kind of thing a religious Scotch woman might do." - -"No, she did not talk to me. Perhaps that was her mistake. She -might have reformed me. She never says more to me than civility -demands. And it was not at tea. I accidentally dropped in on the -Bethunes and found an Oriental had been lecturing there. Mrs. -Muir was talking to him and I heard her. The man seemed to be a -scholar and a deep thinker and as they talked a group of us stood -and listened or asked questions." - -"How funny!" said Feather. - -"It was not funny at all. It was astonishingly calm and serious--and -logical. The logic was the new note. I had never thought of reason -in that connection." - -"Reason has nothing to do with it. You must have faith. You -must just believe what you're told not think at all. Thinking is -wickedness--unless you think what you hear preached." Feather was -even a trifle delicately smug as she rattled off her orthodoxy--but -she laughed after she had done with it. "But it MUST have been -funny--a Turk or a Hindoo in a turban and a thing like a tea gown -and Mrs. Muir in her Edinburgh looking clothes talking about God." - -"You are quite out of it," Coombe did not smile at all as he -said it. "The Oriental was as physically beautiful as Donal Muir -is. And Mrs. Muir--no other woman in the room compared with her. -Perhaps people who think grow beautiful." - -Feather was not often alluring or coquettish in her manner to -Coombe but she tilted her head prettily and looked down at her -flower through lovely lashes. - -"_I_ don't think," she said. "And I am not so bad looking." - -"No," he answered coldly. "You are not. At times you look like a -young angel." - -"If Mrs. Muir is like that," she said after a brief pause, "I -should like to know what she thinks of me?" - -"No, you would not--neither should I--if she thinks at all," was -his answer. "But you remember you said you did not mind that sort -of thing." - -"I don't. Why should I? It can't harm me." Her hint of a pout -made her mouth entrancing. "But, if she thinks good looks are the -result of religiousness I should like to let her see Robin--and -compare her with her boy. I saw Robin in the park last week and -she's a perfect beauty." - -"Last week?" said Coombe. - -"She doesn't need anyone but Andrews. I should bore her to death if -I went and sat in the Nursery and stared at her. No one does that -sort of thing in these days. But I should like to see Mrs. Muir to -see the two children together!" "That could not easily be arranged, -I am afraid," he said. - -"Why not?" - -His answer was politely deliberate. - -"She greatly disapproves of me, I have told you. She is not proud -of the relationship." - -"She does not like ME you mean?" - -"Excuse me. I mean exactly what I said in telling you that she has -her own very strong views of the boy's training and surroundings. -They may be ridiculous but that sort of thing need not trouble -you." - -Feather held up her hand and actually laughed. - -"If Robin meets him in ten years from now--THAT for her very strong -views of his training and surroundings!" - -And she snapped her fingers. - -Mrs. Muir's distaste for her son's unavoidable connection the man -he might succeed had a firm foundation. She had been brought up in -a Scottish Manse where her father dominated as an omnipotent and -almost divine authority. As a child of imagination she had not been -happy but she had been obedient. In her girlhood she had varied -from type through her marriage with a young man who was a dreamer, -an advanced thinker, an impassioned Greek scholar and a lover -of beauty. After he had released her from her terrors of damnation, they had -been profoundly happy. They were young and at ease and they read -and thought together ardently. They explored new creeds and cults -and sometimes found themselves talking nonsense and sometimes -discovering untrodden paths of wisdom. They were youthful enough -to be solemn about things at times, and clever enough to laugh -at their solemnity when they awakened to it. Helen Muir left the -reverent gloom of the life at the Manse far behind despite her -respect for certain meanings they beclouded. - -"I live in a new structure," she said to her husband, "but it is -built on a foundation which is like a solid subterranean chamber. -I don't use the subterranean chamber or go into it. I don't want -to. But now and then echoes--almost noises--make themselves heard -in it. Sometimes I find I have listened in spite of myself." - -She had always been rather grave about her little son and when -her husband's early death left him and his dignified but not large -estate in her care she realized that there lay in her hands the -power to direct a life as she chose, in as far as was humanly -possible. The pure blood and healthy tendencies of a long and -fine ancestry expressing themselves in the boy's splendid body -and unusual beauty had set the minds of two imaginative people -working from the first. One of Muir's deepest interests was the -study of development of the race. It was he who had planted in -her mind that daringly fearless thought of a human perfection as -to the Intention of the Creative Cause. They used to look at the -child as he lay asleep and note the beauty of him--his hands, his -feet, his torso, the tint and texture and line of him. - -"This is what was MEANT--in the plan for every human being--How -could there be scamping and inefficiency in Creation. It is -we ourselves who have scamped and been incomplete in our thought -and life. Here he is. Look at him. But he will only develop as he -is--if living does not warp him." This was what his father said. -His mother was at her gravest as she looked down at the little god -in the crib. - -"It's as if some power had thrust a casket of loose jewels into -our hands and said, 'It is for you to see that not one is lost'," -she murmured. Then the looked up and smiled. - -"Are we being solemn--over a baby?" she said. - -"Perhaps," he was always even readier to smile than she was. "I've -an idea, however, that there's enough to be solemn about--not too -solemn, but just solemn enough. You are a beautiful thing, Fair -Helen! Why shouldn't he be like you? Neither of us will forget -what we have just said." - -Through her darkest hours of young bereavement she remembered -the words many times and felt as if they were a sort of light she -might hold in her hand as she trod the paths of the "Afterwards" -which were in the days before her. She lived with Donal at Braemarnie -and lived FOR him without neglecting her duty of being the head -of a household and an estate and also a good and gracious neighbour -to things and people. She kept watch over every jewel in his -casket, great and small. He was so much a part of her religion -that sometimes she realized that the echoes from the subterranean -chamber were perhaps making her a little strict but she tried to -keep guard over herself. - -He was handsome and radiant with glowing health and vitality. He -was a friendly, rejoicing creature and as full of the joy of life -as a scampering moor pony. He was clever enough but not too clever -and he was friends with the world. Braemarnie was picturesquely -ancient and beautiful. It would be a home of sufficient ease and -luxury to be a pleasure but no burden. Life in it could be perfect -and also supply freedom. Coombe Court and Coombe Keep were huge -and castellated and demanded great things. Even if the Head of the -House had been a man to like and be proud of--the accession of a -beautiful young Marquis would rouse the hounds of war, so to speak, -and set them racing upon his track. Even the totally unalluring -"Henry" had been beset with temptations from his earliest years. -That he promptly succumbed to the first only brought forth others. -It did not seem fair that a creature so different, a splendid -fearless thing, should be dragged from his hills and moors and -fair heather and made to breathe the foul scent of things, of whose -poison he could know nothing. She was not an ignorant childish -woman. In her fine aloof way she had learned much in her stays in -London with her husband and in their explorings of foreign cities. - -This was the reason for her views of her boy's training and -surroundings. She had not asked questions about Coombe himself, -but it had not been necessary. Once or twice she had seen Feather -by chance. In spite of herself she had heard about Henry. Now and -then he was furbished up and appeared briefly at Coombe Court or -at The Keep. It was always briefly because he inevitably began to -verge on misbehaving himself after twenty-four hours had passed. -On his last visit to Coombe House in town, where he had turned -up without invitation, he had become so frightfully drunk that he -had been barely rescued from the trifling faux pas of attempting -to kiss a very young royal princess. There were quite definite -objections to Henry. - -Helen Muir was NOT proud of the Coombe relationship and with -unvaried and resourceful good breeding kept herself and her boy from -all chance of being drawn into anything approaching an intimacy. -Donal knew nothing of his prospects. There would be time enough -for that when he was older, but, in the meantime, there should be -no intercourse if it could be avoided. - -She had smiled at herself when the "echo" had prompted her to the -hint of a quaint caution in connection with his little boy flame -of delight in the strange child he had made friends with. But it -HAD been a flame and, though she, had smiled, she sat very still -by the window later that night and she had felt a touch of weight -on her heart as she thought it over. There were wonderful years -when one could give one's children all the things they wanted, she -was saying to herself--the desires of their child hearts, the joy -of their child bodies, their little raptures of delight. Those -were divine years. They were so safe then. Donal was living -through those years now. He did not know that any happiness could -be taken from him. He was hers and she was his. It would be horrible -if there were anything one could not let him keep--in this early -unshadowed time! - -She was looking out at the Spring night with all its stars lit -and gleaming over the Park which she could see from her window. -Suddenly she left her chair and rang for Nanny. - -"Nanny," she said when the old nurse came, "tell me something about -the little girl Donal plays with in the Square gardens." - -"She's a bonny thing and finely dressed, ma'am," was the woman's -careful answer, "but I don't make friends with strange nurses and -I don't think much of hers. She's a young dawdler who sits novel -reading and if Master Donal were a young pickpocket with the -measles, the child would be playing with him just the same as far -as I can see. The young woman sits under a tree and reads and the -pretty little thing may do what she likes. I keep my eye on them, -however, and they're in no mischief. Master Donal reads out of -his picture books and shows himself off before her grandly and she -laughs and looks up to him as if he were a king. Every lad child -likes a woman child to look up to him. It's pretty to see the -pair of them. They're daft about each other. Just wee things in -love at first sight." - -"Donal has known very few girls. Those plain little things at the -Manse are too dull for him," his mother said slowly. - -"This one's not plain and she's not dull," Nanny answered. "My -word! but she's like a bit of witch fire dancing--with her colour -and her big silk curls in a heap. Donal stares at her like a young -man at a beauty. I wish, ma'am, we knew more of her forbears." - -"I must see her," Mrs. Muir said. "Tomorrow I'll go with you both -to the Gardens." - -Therefore the following day Donal pranced proudly up the path to -his trysting place and with him walked a tall lady at whom people -looked as she passed. She was fair like Donal and had a small head -softly swathed with lovely folds of hair. Also her eyes were very -clear and calm. Donal was plainly proud and happy to be with her -and was indeed prancing though his prance was broken by walking -steps at intervals. - -Robin was waiting behind the lilac bushes and her nurse was already -deep in the mystery of Lady Audley. - -"There she is!" cried Donal, and he ran to her. "My mother has come -with me. She wants to see you, too," and he pulled her forward by -her hand. "This is Robin, Mother! This is Robin." He panted with -elation and stood holding his prize as if she might get away before -he had displayed her; his eyes lifted to his tall mother's were -those of an exultant owner. - -Robin had no desire to run away. To adore anything which belonged -to Donal was only nature. And this tall, fair, wonderful person -was a Mother. No wonder Donal talked of her so much. The child could -only look up at her as Donal did. So they stood hand in hand like -little worshippers before a deity. - -Andrews' sister in her pride had attired the small creature like -a flower of Spring. Her exquisiteness and her physical brilliancy -gave Mrs. Muir something not unlike a slight shock. Oh! no wonder--since -she was like that. She stooped and kissed the round cheek delicately. - -"Donal wanted me to see his little friend," she said. "I always -want to see his playmates. Shall we walk round the Garden together -and you shall show me where you play and tell me all about it." - -She took the small hand and they walked slowly. Robin was at -first too much awed to talk but as Donal was not awed at all and -continued his prancing and the Mother lady said pretty things -about the flowers and the grass and the birds and even about the -pony at Braemarnie, she began now and then to break into a little -hop herself and presently into sudden ripples of laughter like -a bird's brief bubble of song. The tall lady's hand was not like -Andrews, or the hand of Andrews' sister. It did not pull or jerk -and it had a lovely feeling. The sensation she did not know was -happiness again welled up within her. Just one walk round the -Garden and then the tall lady sat down on a seat to watch them play. -It was wonderful. She did not read or work. She sat and watched -them as if she wanted to do that more than anything else. Donal -kept calling out to her and making her smile: he ran backwards -and forwards to her to ask questions and tell her what they were -"making up" to play. When they gathered leaves to prick stars and -circles on, they did them on the seat on which she sat and she -helped them with new designs. Several times, in the midst of -her play, Robin stopped and stood still a moment with a sort of -puzzled expression. It was because she did not feel like Robin. -Two people--a big boy and a lady--letting her play and talk to -them as if they liked her and had time! - -The truth was that Mrs. Muir's eyes followed Robin more than they -followed Donal. Their clear deeps yearned over her. Such a glowing -vital little thing! No wonder! No wonder! And as she grew older she -would be more vivid and compelling with every year. And Donal was -of her kind. His strength, his beauty, his fearless happiness-claiming -temperament. How could one--with dignity and delicacy--find out -why she had this obvious air of belonging to nobody? Donal was -an exact little lad. He had had foundation for his curious scraps -of her story. No mother--no playthings or books--no one had ever -kissed her! And she dressed and soignee like this! Who was the -Lady Downstairs? - -A victoria was driving past the Gardens. It was going slowly because -the two people in it wished to look at the spring budding out of -hyacinths and tulips. Suddenly one of the pair--a sweetly-hued -figure whose early season attire was hyacinth-like itself--spoke -to the coachman. - -"Stop here!" she said. "I want to get out." - -As the victoria drew up near a gate she made a light gesture. - -"What do you think, Starling," she laughed. "The very woman -we are talking about is sitting in the Gardens there. I know her -perfectly though I only saw her portrait at the Academy years ago. -Yes, there she is. Mrs. Muir, you know." She clapped her hands and -her laugh became a delighted giggle. "And my Robin is playing on -the grass near her--with a boy! What a joke! It must be THE boy! -And I wanted to see the pair together. Coombe said couldn't be -done. And more than anything I want to speak to HER. Let's get -out." - -They got out and this was why Helen Muir, turning her eyes a moment -from Robin whose hand she was holding, saw two women coming towards -her with evident intention. At least one of them had evident -intention. She was the one whose light attire produced the effect -of being made of hyacinth petals. - -Because Mrs. Muir's glance turned towards her, Robin's turned -also. She started a little and leaned against Mrs. Muir's knee, -her eyes growing very large and round indeed and filling with a -sudden worshipping light. - -"It is--" she ecstatically sighed or rather gasped, "the Lady -Downstairs!" - -Feather floated near to the seat and paused smiling. - -"Where is your nurse, Robin?" she said. - -Robin being always dazzled by the sight of her did not of course -shine. - -"She is reading under the tree," she answered tremulously. - -"She is only a few yards away," said Mrs. Muir. "She knows Robin -is playing with my boy and that I am watching them. Robin is your -little girl?" amiably. - -"Yes. So kind of you to let her play with your boy. Don't let her -bore you. I am Mrs. Gareth-Lawless." - -There was a little silence--a delicate little silence. - -"I recognized you as Mrs. Muir at once," said Feather, unperturbed -and smiling brilliantly, "I saw your portrait at the Grosvenor." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Muir gently. She had risen and was beautifully -tall,--"the line" was perfect, and she looked with a gracious calm -into Feather's eyes. - -Donal, allured by the hyacinth petal colours, drew near. Robin made -an unconscious little catch at his plaid and whispered something. - -"Is this Donal?" Feather said. - -"ARE you the Lady Downstairs, please?" Donal put in politely, -because he wanted so to know. - -Feather's pretty smile ended in the prettiest of outright laughs. -Her maid had told her Andrews' story of the name. - -"Yes, I believe that's what she calls me. It's a nice name for a -mother, isn't it?" - -Donal took a quick step forward. - -"ARE you her mother?" he asked eagerly. - -"Of course I am." - -Donal quite flushed with excitement. - -"She doesn't KNOW," he said. - -He turned on Robin. - -"She's your Mother! You thought you hadn't one! She's your Mother!" - -"But I am the Lady Downstairs, too." Feather was immensely amused. -She was not subtle enough to know why she felt a perverse kind of -pleasure in seeing the Scotch woman standing so still, and that -it led her into a touch of vulgarity. "I wanted very much to see -your boy," she said. - -"Yes," still gently from Mrs. Muir. - -"Because of Coombe, you know. We are such old friends. How queer -that the two little things have made friends, too. I didn't know. -I am so glad I caught a glimpse of you and that I had seen the -portrait. GOOD morning. Goodbye, children." - -While she strayed airily away they all watched her. She picked up -her friend, the Starling, who, not feeling concerned or needed, -had paused to look at daffodils. The children watched her until -her victoria drove away, the chiffon ruffles of her flowerlike -parasol fluttering in the air. - -Mrs. Muir had sat down again and Donal and Robin leaned against -her. They saw she was not laughing any more but they did not know -that her eyes had something like grief in them. - -"She's her Mother!" Donal cried. "She's lovely, too. But she's--her -MOTHER!" and his voice and face were equally puzzled. - -Robin's little hand delicately touched Mrs. Muir. - -"IS--she?" she faltered. - -Helen Muir took her in her arms and held her quite close. She -kissed her. - -"Yes, she is, my lamb," she said. "She's your mother." - -She was clear as to what she must do for Donal's sake. It was the -only safe and sane course. But--at this age--the child WAS a lamb -and she could not help holding her close for a moment. Her little -body was deliciously soft and warm and the big silk curls all in -a heap were a fragrance against her breast. - - - - - - -CHAPTER X - - - - - -Donal talked a great deal as he pranced home. Feather had excited -as well as allured him. Why hadn't she told Robin she was her -mother? Why did she never show her pictures in the Nursery and -hold her on her knee? She was little enough to be held on knees! -Did some mothers never tell their children and did the children -never find out? This was what he wanted to hear explained. He took -the gloved hand near him and held it close and a trifle authoritatively. - -"I am glad I know you are my mother," he said, "I always knew." - -He was not sure that the matter was explained very clearly. Not as -clearly as things usually were. But he was not really disturbed. -He had remembered a book he could show Robin tomorrow and he thought -of that. There was also a game in a little box which could be -easily carried under his arm. His mother was "thinking" and he was -used to that. It came on her sometimes and of his own volition he -always, on such occasion, kept as quiet as was humanly possible. - -After he was asleep, Helen sent for Nanny. - -"You're tired, ma'am," the woman said when she saw her, "I'm afraid -you've a headache." - -"I have had a good deal of thinking to do since this afternoon," -her mistress answered, "You were right about the nurse. The -little girl might have been playing with any boy chance sent in -her way--boys quite unlike Donal." - -"Yes, ma'am." And because she loved her and knew her face and -voice Nanny watched her closely. - -"You will be as--startled--as I was. By some queer chance the -child's mother was driving by and saw us and came in to speak to -me. Nanny--she is Mrs. Gareth-Lawless." - -Nanny did start; she also reddened and spoke sharply. - -"And she came in and spoke to you, ma'am!" - -"Things have altered and are altering every day," Mrs. Muir said. -"Society is not at all inflexible. She has a smart set of her own--and -she is very pretty and evidently well provided for. Easy-going -people who choose to find explanations suggest that her husband -was a relation of Lord Lawdor's." - -"And him a canny Scotchman with a new child a year. Yes, my certie," -offered Nanny, with an acrid grimness. Mrs. Muir's hands clasped -strongly as they lay on the table before her. - -"That doesn't come within my bailiewick," she said in her quiet -voice. "Her life is her own and not mine. Words are the wind that -blows." She stopped just a moment and began again. "We must leave -for Scotland by the earliest train." - -"What'll he do?" the words escaped from the woman as if involuntarily. -She even drew a quick breath. "He's a strong feeling bairn--strong!" - -"He'll be stronger when he is a young man, Nanny!" desperately. -"That is why I must act now. There is no half way. I don't want -to be hard. Oh, am I hard--am I hard?" she cried out low as if she -were pleading. - -"No, ma'am. You are not. He's your own flesh and blood." Nanny had -never before seen her mistress as she saw her in the next curious -almost exaggerated moment. - -Her hand flew to her side. - -"He's my heart and my soul--" she said, "--he is the very entrails -of me! And it will hurt him so and I cannot explain to him because -he is too young to understand. He is only a little boy who must -go where he is taken. And he cannot help himself. It's--unfair!" - -Nanny was prone to become more Scotch as she became moved. But -she still managed to look grim. - -"He canna help himsel," she said, "an waur still, YOU canna." - -There was a moment of stillness and then she said: - -"I must go and pack up." And walked out of the room. - - * * * * * - -Donal always slept like a young roe in the bracken, and in deep -and rapturous ease he slept this night. Another perfectly joyful -day had passed and his Mother had liked Robin and kissed her. All -was well with the world. As long as he had remained awake--and it -had not been long--he had thought of delightful things unfeverishly. -Of Robin, somehow at Braemarnie, growing bigger very quickly--big -enough for all sorts of games--learning to ride Chieftain, even -to gallop. His mother would buy another pony and they could ride -side by side. Robin would laugh and her hair would fly behind her -if they went fast. She would see how fast he could go--she would -see him make Chieftain jump. They would have picnics--catch sight -of deer and fawns delicately lifting their feet as they stepped. -She would always look at him with that nice look in her eyes and -the little smile which came and went in a second. She was quite -different from the minister's little girls at the Manse. He liked -her--he liked her! - - * * * * * - -He was wakened by a light in his room and by the sound of moving -about. He sat up quickly and found his Mother standing by his bed -and Nanny putting things into a travelling bag. He felt as if his -Mother looked taller than she had looked yesterday--and almost -thin--and her face was anxious and--shy. - -"We let you sleep as late as we could, Donal," she said. "You must -get up quickly now and have breakfast. Something has happened. We -are obliged to go back to Scotland by very early train. There is -not a minute to waste." - -At first he only said: - -"Back!" - -"Yes, dear. Get up." - -"To Braemarnie?" - -"Yes, dear laddie!" - -He felt himself grow hot and cold. - -"Away! Away!" he said again vaguely. - -"Yes. Get up, dear." - -He was as she had said only a little boy and accustomed to do as -he was told. He was also a fine, sturdy little Scot with a pride -of his own. His breeding had been of the sort which did not include -insubordinate scenes, so he got out of bed and began to dress. But -his mother saw that his hands shook. - -"I shall not see Robin," he said in a queer voice. "She won't -find me when she goes behind the lilac bushes. She won't know why -I don't come." - -He swallowed very hard and was dead still for a few minutes, -though he did not linger over his dressing. His mother felt that -the whole thing was horrible. He was acting almost like a young -man even now. She did not know how she could bear it. She spoke to -him in a tone which was actually rather humble. - -"If we knew where she lived you--you could write a little letter -and tell her about it. But we do not where she lives." - -He answered her very low. - -"That's it. And she's little--and she won't understand. She's very -little--really." There was a harrowingly protective note in his -voice. "Perhaps--she'll cry." - -Helen looking down at him with anguished eyes--he was buttoning his -shoes--made an unearthly effort to find words, but, as she said -them, she knew they were not the right ones. - -"She will be disappointed, of course, but she is so little that -she will not feel it as much as if she were bigger. She will get -over it, darling. Very little girls do not remember things long." -Oh, how coarse and crass and stupid it sounded--how coarse and -crass and stupid to say it to this small defiant scrap of what -seemed the inevitable suffering of the world! - -The clear blue of the eyes Robin had dwelt in, lifted itself to -her. There was something almost fierce in it--almost like impotent -hatred of something. - -"She won't," he said, and she actually heard him grind his little -teeth after it. - -He did not look like Donal when he was dressed and sat at the -breakfast table. He did not eat much of his porridge, but she saw -that he determinedly ate some. She felt several times as if he -actually did not look like anybody she had ever seen. And at the -same time his fair hair, his fair cheeks, and the fair sturdy -knees beneath his swinging kilt made him seem as much a little boy -as she had ever known him. It was his hot blue eyes which were -different. - -He obeyed her every wish and followed where she led. When the train -laboured out of the big station he had taken a seat in a corner -and sat with his face turned to the window, so that his back was -towards her. He stared and stared at the passing country and she -could only see part of his cheek and the side of his neck. She -could not help watching them and presently she saw a hot red glow -under the skin as if a flood had risen. It subsided in a few moments, -but presently she saw it rise again. This happened several times -and he was holding his lip with, his teeth. Once she saw his -shoulders more and he coughed obstinately two or three times. She -knew that he would die before he would let himself cry, but she -wished he would descend to it just this once, as the fields and -hedges raced past and he was carried "Away! Away!" It might be -that it was all his manhood she was saving for him. - -He really made her heart stand still for a moment just as she was -thinking this and saying it to herself almost fiercely. He suddenly -turned on her; the blue of his eyes was flaming and the tide had -risen again in his cheeks and neck. It was a thing like rage she -saw before her--a child's rage and impotently fierce. He cried out -as if he were ending a sentence he had not finished when he spoke -as he sat on the floor buttoning his shoes. - -"She has no one but me to remember!" he said. "No one but me had -ever even kissed her. She didn't know!" - -To her amazement he clenched both his savage young fists and shook -them before him. - -"It'll kill me!" he raged. - -She could not hold herself back. She caught at him with her arms -and meant to drag him to her breast. "No! No! Donal!" she cried. -"Darling! No--No!" But, as suddenly as the queer unchildish thing -had broken out, did he remember himself and boy shame at his -fantastic emotion overtook him. He had never spoken like that to -anyone before! It was almost as bad as bursting out crying! The -red tide ebbed away and he withdrew himself awkwardly from her -embrace. He said not another word and sat down in his corner with -his back turned toward the world. - - * * * * * - -That the Lady Downstairs, who was so fond of laughing and who knew -so many persons who seemed to laugh nearly all the time, might -have been joking about being her mother presented itself to Robin -as a vague solution of the problem. The Lady had laughed when she -said it, as people so often laughed at children. Perhaps she had -only been amusing herself as grown-up persons were apparently -entitled to do. Even Donal had not seemed wholly convinced and -though his mother had said the Lady Downstairs WAS--somehow the -subject had been changed at once. Mrs. Muir had so soon begun to -tell them a story. Robin was not in the least aware that she had -swiftly distracted their attention from a question, any discussion -of which would have involved explanations she could not have -produced. It would have been impossible to make it clear to any -child. She herself was helpless before the situation and therefore -her only refuge was to make the two think of other things. She had -so well done this that Robin had gone home later only remembering -the brightly transitory episode as she recalled others as brief and -bright, when she had stared at a light and lovely figure standing -on the nursery threshold and asking careless questions of Andrews, -without coming in and risking the freshness of her draperies by -contact with London top-floor grubbiness. The child was, in fact, -too full of the reality of her happiness with Donal and Donal's -mother to be more than faintly bewildered by a sort of visionary -conundrum. - -Robin, like Donal, slept perfectly through the night. Her sleep -was perhaps made more perfect by fair dreams in which she played -in the Gardens and she and Donal ran to and from the knees of -the Mother lady to ask questions and explain their games. As the -child had often, in the past, looked up at the sky, so she had looked -up into the clear eyes of the Mother lady. There was something in -them which she had never seen before but which she kept wanting to -see again. Then there came a queer bit of a dream about the Lady -Downstairs. She came dancing towards them dressed in hyacinths -and with her arms full of daffodils. She danced before Donal's -Mother--danced and laughed as if she thought they were all funny. -She threw a few daffodils at them and then danced away. The -daffodils lay on the gravel walk and they all looked at them but -no one picked them up. Afterwards--in the dream--Mrs. Muir suddenly -caught her in her arms and kissed her and Robin was glad and felt -warm all over--inside and out. - -She wakened smiling at the dingy ceiling of the dingy room. There -was but one tiny shadow in the world, which was the fear that -Andrews would get well too quickly. She was no longer in bed but -was well enough to sit up and sew a little before the tiny fire -in the atom of a servant's room grate. The doctor would not let -her go out yet; therefore, Anne still remained in charge. Founding -one's hope on previous knowledge of Anne's habits, she might be -trusted to sit and read and show no untoward curiosity. - -From her bed Robin could see the sky was blue. That meant that -she would be taken out. She lay as quiet as a mouse and thought -of the joy before her, until Anne came to dress her and give her -her breakfast. - -"We'll put on your rose-coloured smock this morning," the girl said, -when the dressing began. "I like the hat and socks that match." - -Anne was not quite like Andrews who was not talkative. She made -a conversational sort of remark after she had tied the white shoes. - -"You've got pretty little aristocratic legs of your own," she said -amiably. "I like my children to have nice legs." - -Robin was uplifted in spirit by the commendation, but she hoped -Anne would put on her own things quickly. Sometimes she was rather -a long time. The one course, however, towards which discretion -pointed as entirely safe was the continuance of being as quiet -as a mouse--even quieter, if such thing might be--so that nothing -might interfere with anything any one wanted to do. To interfere -would have been to attract attention and might lead to delay. So -she stood and watched the sparrows inoffensively until Anne called -her. - -When she found herself out on the street her step was so light on -the pavement that she was rather like a rose petal blown fluttering -along by soft vagrant puffs of spring air. Under her flopping -hat her eyes and lips and cheeks were so happy that more than one -passer-by turned head over shoulder to look after her. - -"Your name ought to be Rose," Anne giggled involuntarily as she -glanced down at her because someone had stared. She had not meant -to speak but the words said themselves. - -Because the time was young June even London sky and air were -wonderful. Stray breaths of fragrance came and went. The green of -the trees in the Gardens was light and fresh and in the bedded-out -curves and stars and circles there were more flowers every hour, -so that it seemed as if blooming things with scents grew thick -about one's feet. It was no wonder one felt light and smiled back -at nurses and governesses who looked up. Robin drew eyes became she -was like a summer bloom suddenly appearing in the Spring Garden. - -Nanny was not sitting on the bench near the gate and Donal was -not to be seen amusing himself. But he was somewhere just out of -sight, or, if he had chanced to be late, he would come very soon -even if his Mother could not come with him--though Robin could -not believe she would not. To a child thing both happiness and -despair cannot be conceived of except as lasting forever. - -Anne sat down and opened her book. She had reached an exciting -part and looked forward to a thoroughly enjoyable morning. - -Robin hopped about for a few minutes. Donal had taught her to hop -and she felt it an accomplishment. Entangled in the meshes of the -feathery, golden, if criminal, ringlets of Lady Audley, Anne did -not know when she hopped round the curve of the walk behind the -lilac and snowball bushes. - -Once safe in her bit of enchanted land, the child stood still and -looked about her. There was no kilted figure to be seen, but it -would come towards her soon with swinging plaid and eagle's feather -standing up grandly in its Highland bonnet. He would come soon. -Perhaps he would come running--and the Mother lady would walk -behind more slowly and smile. Robin waited and looked--she waited -and looked. - -She was used to waiting but she had never watched for anyone -before. There had never been any one or anything to watch for. The -newness of the suspense gave it a sort of deep thrill at first. How -long was "at first"? She did not know. She stood--and stood--and -stood--and looked at every creature who entered the gate. She did -not see any one who looked in the least like Donal or his Mother or -Nanny. There were nurses and governesses and children and a loitering -lady or two. There were never many people in the Gardens--only -those who had keys. She knew nothing about time but at length she -knew that on other mornings they had been playing together before -this. - -The small rose-coloured figure stood so still for so long that it -began to look rigid and a nurse sitting at some distance said to -another, - -"What is that child waiting for?" - -What length of time had passed before she found herself looking -slowly down at her feet because of something. The "something" -which had drawn her eyes downward was that she had stood so long -without moving that her tense feet had begun vaguely to hurt her -and the ache attracted her attention. She changed her position -slightly and turned her eyes upon the gate again. He was coming very -soon. He would be sure to run fast now and he would be laughing. -Donal! Donal! She even laughed a little low, quivering laugh -herself. - -"What is that child waiting for? I should really like to know," -the distant nurse said again curiously. - -If she had been eighteen years old she would have said to herself -that she was waiting hours and hours. She would have looked at a -little watch a thousand times; she would have walked up and down -and round and round the garden never losing sight of the gate--or -any other point for that matter--for more than a minute. Each -sound of the church clock striking a few streets away would have -brought her young heart thumping into her throat. - -But a child has no watch, no words out of which to build hopes -and fears and reasons, arguments battling against anguish which -grows--palliations, excuses. Robin, could only wait in the midst -of a slow dark, rising tide of something she had no name for. This -slow rising of an engulfing flood she felt when pins and needles -began to take possession of her feet, when her legs ached, and her -eyes felt as if they had grown big and tightly strained. Donal! -Donal! Donal! - -Who knows but that some echo of the terror against which she had -fought and screamed on the night when she had lain alone in the dark -in her cradle and Feather had hid her head under the pillow--came -back and closed slowly around and over her, filling her inarticulate -being with panic which at last reached its unbearable height? -She had not really stood waiting the entire morning, but she was -young enough to think that she had and that at any moment Anne -might come and take her away. He had not come running--he had not -come laughing--he had not come with his plaid swinging and his -feather standing high! There came a moment when her strained eyes -no longer seemed to see clearly! Something like a big lump crawled -up into her throat! Something of the same sort happened the day -she had burst into a wail of loneliness and Andrews had pinched -her. Panic seized her; she clutched the breast of her rose-coloured -frock and panic-driven turned and fled into a thick clump of bushes -where there was no path and where even Donal had never pierced. - -"That child has run away at last," the distant nurse remarked, -"I'd like to find out what she WAS waiting for." - -The shrubs were part of the enclosing planting of the Gardens. The -children who came to play on the grass and paths felt as if they -formed a sort of forest. Because of this, Robin had made her -frantic dash to their shelter. No one would come--no one would -see her--no one would hear her, beneath them it was almost dark. -Bereft, broken and betrayed, a little mad thing, she pushed her -way into their shadow and threw herself face downward, a small, -writhing, rose-coloured heap, upon the damp mould. She could not -have explained what she was doing or why she had given up all, -as if some tidal wave had overwhelmed her. Suddenly she knew that -all her new world had gone--forever and ever. As it had come so -it had gone. As she had not doubted the permanence of its joy, -so she KNEW that the end had come. Only the wisdom of the occult -would dare to suggest that from her child mate, squaring his sturdy -young shoulders against the world as the flying train sped on its -way, some wave of desperate, inchoate thinking rushed backward. -There was nothing more. He would not come back running. He was -GONE! - -There was no Andrews to hear. Hidden in the shadow under the shrubs, -the rattle and roar of the street outside the railing drowned her -mad little cries. All she had never done before, she did then. Her -hands beat on the damp mould and tore at it--her small feet beat -it and dug into it. She cried, she sobbed; the big lump in her -throat almost strangled her--she writhed and did not know she was -writhing. Her tears pouring forth wet her hair, her face, her dress. -She did not cry out, "Donal! Donal!" because he was nowhere--nowhere. -If Andrews had seen her she would have said she was "in a tantrum," -But she was not. The world had been torn away. - -A long time afterwards, as it seemed to her, she crawled out from -under the shrubs, carrying her pretty flopping hat in her earth-stained -hand. It was not pretty any more. She had been lying on it and it -was crushed and flat. She crept slowly round the curve to Anne. - -Seeing her, Anne sprang to her feet. The rose was a piteous thing -beaten to earth by a storm. The child's face was swollen and stained, -her hair was tangled and damp there were dark marks of mould on -her dress, her hat, her hands, her white cheeks; her white shoes -were earth-stained also, and the feet in the rose-coloured socks -dragged themselves heavily--slowly. - -"My gracious!" the young woman almost shrieked. "What's happened! -Where have you been? Did you fall down? Ah, my good gracious! Mercy -me!" - -Robin caught her breath but did not say a word. - -"You fell down on a flower bed where they'd been watering the -plants!" almost wept Anne. "You must have. There isn't that much -dirt anywhere else in the Gardens." - -And when she took her charge home that was the story she told -Andrews. Out of Robin she could get nothing, and it was necessary -to have an explanation. - -The truth, of which she knew nothing, was but the story of a child's -awful dismay and a child's woe at one of Life's first betrayals. -It would be left behind by the days which came and went--it would -pass--as all things pass but the everlasting hills--but in this way -it was that it came and wrote itself upon the tablets of a child's -day. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - - - - -"The child's always been well, ma'am," Andrews was standing, the -image of exact correctness, in her mistress' bedroom, while Feather -lay in bed with her breakfast on a convenient and decorative little -table. "It's been a thing I've prided myself on. But I should say -she isn't well now." - -"Well, I suppose it's only natural that she should begin sometime," -remarked Feather. "They always do, of course. I remember we all had -things when we were children. What does the doctor say? I hope it -isn't the measles, or the beginning of anything worse?" - -"No, ma'am, it isn't. It's nothing like a child's disease. I could -have managed that. There's good private nursing homes for them in -these days. Everything taken care of exactly as it should be and no -trouble of disinfecting and isolating for the family. I know what -you'd have wished to have done, ma'am." - -"You do know your business, Andrews," was Feather's amiable comment. - -"Thank you, ma'am," from Andrews. "Infectious things are easy -managed if they're taken away quick. But the doctor said you must -be spoken to because perhaps a change was needed." - -"You could take her to Ramsgate or somewhere bracing." said Feather. -"But what did he SAY?" - -"He seemed puzzled, ma'am. That's what struck me. When I told him -about her not eating--and lying awake crying all night--to judge from -her looks in the morning--and getting thin and pale--he examined -her very careful and he looked queer and he said, 'This child hasn't -had a SHOCK of any kind, has she? This looks like what we should -call shock--if she were older'." - -Feather laughed. - -"How could a baby like that have a shock?" - -"That's what I thought myself, ma'am," answered Andrews. "A child -that's had her hours regular and is fed and bathed and sleeps by -the clock, and goes out and plays by herself in the Gardens, well -watched over, hasn't any chance to get shocks. I told him so and -he sat still and watched her quite curious, and then he said very -slow: 'Sometimes little children are a good deal shaken up by a -fall when they are playing. Do you remember any chance fall when -she cried a good deal?'" - -"But you didn't, of course," said Feather. - -"No, ma'am, I didn't. I keep my eye on her pretty strict and -shouldn't encourage wild running or playing. I don't let her play -with other children. And she's not one of those stumbling, falling -children. I told him the only fall I ever knew of her having was a -bit of a slip on a soft flower bed that had just been watered--to -judge from the state her clothes were in. She had cried because -she's not used to such things, and I think she was frightened. But -there wasn't a scratch or a shadow of a bruise on her. Even that -wouldn't have happened if I'd been with her. It was when I was -ill and my sister Anne took my place. Ann thought at first that -she'd been playing with a little boy she had made friends with--but -she found out that the boy hadn't come that morning--" - -"A boy!" Andrews was sharp enough to detect a new and interested -note. "What boy?" - -"She wouldn't have played with any other child if I'd been there" -said Andrews, "I was pretty sharp with Anne about it. But she said -he was an aristocratic looking little fellow--" - -"Was he in Highland costume?" Feather interrupted. - -"Yes, ma'am. Anne excused herself by saying she thought you must -know something about him. She declares she saw you come into the -Gardens and speak to his Mother quite friendly. That was the day -before Robin fell and ruined her rose-coloured smock and things. -But it wasn't through playing boisterous with the boy--because -he didn't come that morning, as I said, and he never has since." - -Andrews, on this, found cause for being momentarily puzzled by the -change of expression in her mistress' face. Was it an odd little -gleam of angry spite she saw? - -"And never has since, has he?" Mrs. Gareth-Lawless said with a -half laugh. - -"Not once, ma'am," answered Andrews. "And Anne thinks it queer -the child never seemed to look for him. As if she'd lost interest. -She just droops and drags about and doesn't try to play at all." - -"How much did she play with him?" - -"Well, he was such a fine little fellow and had such a respectable, -elderly, Scotch looking woman in charge of him that Anne owned up -that she hadn't thought there was any objections to them playing -together. She says they were as well behaved and quiet as children -could be." Andrews thought proper to further justify herself by -repeating, "She didn't think there could be any objection." - -"There couldn't," Mrs. Gareth-Lawless remarked. "I do know the -boy. He is a relation of Lord Coombe's." - -"Indeed, ma'am," with colourless civility, "Anne said he was a -big handsome child." - -Feather took a small bunch of hothouse grapes from her breakfast -tray and, after picking one off, suddenly began to laugh. - -"Good gracious, Andrews!" she said. "He was the 'shock'! How -perfectly ridiculous! Robin had never played with a boy before -and she fell in love with him. The little thing's actually pining -away for him." She dropped the grapes and gave herself up to -delicate mirth. "He was taken away and disappeared. Perhaps she -fainted and fell into the wet flower bed and spoiled her frock, -when she first realized that he wasn't coming." - -"It did happen that morning," admitted Andrews, smiling a little -also. "It does seem funny. But children take to each other in a -queer way now and then. I've seen it upset them dreadful when they -were parted." - -"You must tell the doctor," laughed Feather. "Then he'll see -there's nothing to be anxious about. She'll get over it in a week." - -"It's five weeks since it happened, ma'am," remarked Andrews, with -just a touch of seriousness. - -"Five! Why, so it must be! I remember the day I spoke to Mrs. -Muir. If she's that sort of child you had better keep her away from -boys. HOW ridiculous! How Lord Coombe--how people will laugh when -I tell them!" - -She had paused a second because--for that second--she was not quite -sure that Coombe WOULD laugh. Frequently she was of the opinion -that he did not laugh at things when he should have done so. But -she had had a brief furious moment when she had realized that the -boy had actually been whisked away. She remembered the clearness of -the fine eyes which had looked directly into hers. The woman had -been deciding then that she would have nothing to do with her--or -even with her child. - -But the story of Robin worn by a bereft nursery passion for a little -boy, whose mamma snatched him away as a brand from the burning, -was far too edifying not to be related to those who would find it -delicious. - -It was on the occasion, a night or so later, of a gathering at -dinner of exactly the few elect ones, whose power to find it -delicious was the most highly developed, that she related it. It -was a very little dinner--only four people. One was the long thin -young man, with the good looking narrow face and dark eyes peering -through a pince nez--the one who had said that Mrs. Gareth-Lawless -"got her wondrous clothes from Helene" but that he couldn't. His -name was Harrowby. Another was the Starling who was a Miss March -who had, some years earlier, led the van of the girls who prostrated -their relatives by becoming what was then called "emancipated"; the -sign thereof being the demanding of latchkeys and the setting up -of bachelor apartments. The relatives had astonishingly settled -down, with the unmoved passage of time, and more modern emancipation -had so far left latchkeys and bachelor apartments behind it that -they began to seem almost old-fogeyish. Clara March, however, -had progressed with her day. The third diner was an adored young -actor with a low, veiled voice which, combining itself with almond -eyes and a sentimental and emotional curve of cheek and chin, made -the most commonplace "lines" sound yearningly impassioned. He was -not impassioned at all--merely fond of his pleasures and comforts -in a way which would end by his becoming stout. At present his -figure was perfect--exactly the thing for the uniforms of royal -persons of Ruritania and places of that ilk--and the name by which -programmes presented him was Gerald Vesey. - -Feather's house pleased him and she herself liked being spoken -to in the veiled voice and gazed at by the almond eyes, as though -insuperable obstacles alone prevented soul-stirring things from -being said. That she knew this was not true did not interfere with -her liking it. Besides he adored and understood her clothes. - -Over coffee in the drawing-room, Coombe joined them. He had not -known of the little dinner and arrived just as Feather was on the -point of beginning her story. - -"You are just in time," she greeted him, "I was going to tell them -something to make them laugh." - -"Will it make me laugh?" he inquired. - -"It ought to. Robin is in love. She is five years old and she has -been deserted, and Andrews came to tell me that she can neither -eat nor sleep. The doctor says she has had a shock." - -Coombe did not join in the ripple of amused laughter but, as he -took his cup of coffee, he looked interested. - -Harrowby was interested too. His dark eyes quite gleamed. - -"I suppose she is in bed by now," he said. "If it were not so late, -I should beg you to have her brought down so that we might have a -look at her. I'm by way of taking a psychological interest." - -"I'm psychological myself," said the Starling. "But what do you -mean, Feather? Are you in earnest?" - -"Andrews is," Feather answered. "She could manage measles but she -could not be responsible for shock. But she didn't find out about -the love affair. I found that out--by mere chance. Do you remember -the day we got out of the victoria and went into the Gardens, -Starling?" - -"The time you spoke to Mrs. Muir?" - -Coombe turned slightly towards them. - -Feather nodded, with a lightly significant air. - -"It was her boy," she said, and then she laughed and nodded at -Coombe. - -"He was quite as handsome as you said he was. No wonder poor Robin -fell prostrate. He ought to be chained and muzzled by law when he -grows up." - -"But so ought Robin," threw in the Starling in her brusque, young -mannish way. - -"But Robin's only a girl and she's not a parti," laughed Feather. -Her eyes, lifted to Coombe's, held a sort of childlike malice. -"After his mother knew she was Miss Gareth-Lawless, he was not -allowed to play in the Gardens again. Did she take him back to -Scotland?" - -"They went back to Scotland," answered Coombe, "and, of course, -the boy was not left behind." - -"Have YOU a child five years old?" asked Vesey in his low voice -of Feather. "You?" - -"It seems absurd to ME," said Feather, "I never quite believe in -her." - -"I don't," said Vesey. "She's impossible." - -"Robin is a stimulating name," put in Harrowby. "IS it too late -to let us see her? If she's such a beauty as Starling hints, she -ought to be looked at." - -Feather actually touched the bell by the fireplace. A sudden -caprice moved her. The love story had not gone off quite as well -as she had thought it would. And, after all, the child was pretty -enough to show off. She knew nothing in particular about her -daughter's hours, but, if she was asleep, she could be wakened. - -"Tell Andrews," she said to the footman when he appeared, "I wish -Miss Robin to be brought downstairs." - -"They usually go to bed at seven, I believe," remarked Coombe, -"but, of course, I am not an authority." - -Robin was not asleep though she had long been in bed. Because she -kept her eyes shut Andrews had been deceived into carrying on a -conversation with her sister Anne, who had come to see her. Robin -had been lying listening to it. She had begun to listen because -they had been talking about the day she had spoiled her rose-coloured -smock and they had ended by being very frank about other things. - -"As sure as you saw her speak to the boy's mother the day before, -just so sure she whisked him back to Scotland the next morning," -said Andrews. "She's one of the kind that's particular. Lord -Coombe's the reason. She does not want her boy to see or speak to -him, if it can be helped. She won't have it--and when she found -out--" - -"Is Lord Coombe as bad as they say?" put in Anne with bated breath. -"He must be pretty bad if a boy that's eight years old has to be -kept out of sight and sound of him." - -So it was Lord Coombe who had somehow done it. He had made Donal's -mother take him away. It was Lord Coombe. Who was Lord Coombe? It -was because he was wicked that Donal's mother would not let him -play with her--because he was wicked. All at once there came to -her a memory of having heard his name before. She had heard it -several times in the basement Servants' Hall and, though she had -not understood what was said about him, she had felt the atmosphere -of cynical disapproval of something. They had said "him" and "her" -as if he somehow belonged to the house. On one occasion he had -been "high" in the manner of some reproof to Jennings, who, being -enraged, freely expressed his opinions of his lordship's character -and general reputation. The impression made on Robin then had been -that he was a person to be condemned severely. That the condemnation -was the mere outcome of the temper of an impudent young footman -had not conveyed itself to her, and it was the impression which -came back to her now with a new significance. He was the cause--not -Donal, not Donal's Mother--but this man who was so bad that servants -were angry because he was somehow connected with the house. - -"As to his badness," she heard Andrews answer, "there's some that -can't say enough against him. Badness is smart these days. He's -bad enough for the boy's mother to take him away from. It's what -he is in this house that does it. She won't have her boy playing -with a child like Robin." - -Then--even as there flashed upon her bewilderment this strange -revelation of her own unfitness for association with boys whose -mothers took care of them--Jennings, the young footman, came to -the door. - -"Is she awake, Miss Andrews?" he said, looking greatly edified by -Andrews' astonished countenance. - -"What on earth--?" began Andrews. - -"If she is," Jennings winked humorously, "she's to be dressed up -and taken down to the drawing-room to be shown off. I don't know -whether it's Coombe's idea or not. He's there." - -Robin's eyes flew wide open. She forgot to keep them shut. She -was to go downstairs! Who wanted her--who? - -Andrews had quite gasped. - -"Here's a new break out!" she exclaimed. "I never heard such a -thing in my life. She's been in bed over two hours. I'd like to -know--" - -She paused here because her glance at the bed met the dark liquidity -of eyes wide open. She got up and walked across the room. - -"You are awake!" she said. "You look as if you hadn't been asleep -at all. You're to get up and have your frock put on. The Lady -Downstairs wants you in the drawing-room." - -Two months earlier such a piece of information would have awakened -in the child a delirium of delight. But now her vitality was lowered -because her previously unawakened little soul had soared so high -and been so dashed down to cruel earth again. The brilliancy of -the Lady Downstairs had been dimmed as a candle is dimmed by the -light of the sun. - -She felt only a vague wonder as she did as Andrews told her--wonder -at the strangeness of getting up to be dressed, as it seemed to -her, in the middle of the night. - -"It's just the kind of thing that would happen in a house like -this," grumbled Andrews, as she put on her frock. "Just anything -that comes into their heads they think they've a right to do. I -suppose they have, too. If you're rich and aristocratic enough to -have your own way, why not take it? I would myself." - -The big silk curls, all in a heap, fell almost to the child's hips. -The frock Andrews chose for her was a fairy thing. - -"She IS a bit thin, to be sure," said the girl Anne. "But it points -her little face and makes her eyes look bigger." - -"If her mother's got a Marquis, I wonder what she'll get," said -Andrews. "She's got a lot before her: this one!" - -When the child entered the drawing-room, Andrews made her go in -alone, while she held herself, properly, a few paces back like a -lady in waiting. The room was brilliantly lighted and seemed full -of colour and people who were laughing. There were pretty things -crowding each other everywhere, and there were flowers on all sides. -The Lady Downstairs, in a sheathlike sparkling dress, and only -a glittering strap seeming to hold it on over her fair undressed -shoulders, was talking to a tall thin man standing before the -fireplace with a gold cup of coffee in his hand. - -As the little thing strayed in, with her rather rigid attendant -behind her, suddenly the laughing ceased and everybody involuntarily -drew a half startled breath--everybody but the tall thin man, who -quietly turned and set his coffee cup down on the mantel piece -behind him. - -"Is THIS what you have been keeping up your sleeve!" said Harrowby, -settling his pince nez. - -"I told you!" said the Starling. - -"You couldn't tell us," Vesey's veiled voice dropped in softly. -"It must be seen to be believed. But still--" aside to Feather, -"I don't believe it." - -"Enter, my only child!" said Feather. "Come here, Robin. Come to -your mother." - -Now was the time! Robin went to her and took hold of a very small -piece of her sparkling dress. - -"ARE you my Mother?" she said. And then everybody burst into a -peal of laughter, Feather with the rest. - -"She calls me the Lady Downstairs," she said. "I really believe -she doesn't know. She's rather a stupid little thing." - -"Amazing lack of filial affection," said Lord Coombe. - -He was not laughing like the rest and he was looking down at Robin. -She thought him ugly and wicked looking. Vesey and Harrowby were -beautiful by contrast. Before she knew who he was, she disliked -him. She looked at him askance under her eyelashes, and he saw her -do it before her mother spoke his name, taking her by the tips of -her fingers and leading her to him. - -"Come and let Lord Coombe look at you," she said. So it revealed -itself to her that it was he--this ugly one--who had done it, and -hatred surged up in her soul. It was actually in the eyes she -raised to his face, and Coombe saw it as he had seen the sidelong -glance and he wondered what it meant. - -"Shake hands with Lord Coombe," Feather instructed. - -"If you can make a curtsey, make one." She turned her head over -her shoulders, "Have you taught her to curtsey, Andrews?" - -But Andrews had not and secretly lost temper at finding herself made -to figure as a nurse who had been capable of omission. Outwardly -she preserved rigid calm. - -"I'm afraid not, ma'am. I will at once, if you wish it." - -Coombe was watching the inner abhorrence in the little face. Robin -had put her hand behind her back--she who had never disobeyed since -she was born! She had crossed a line of development when she had -seen glimpses of the new world through Donal's eyes. - -"What are you doing, you silly little thing," Feather reproved -her. "Shake hands with Lord Coombe." - -Robin shook her head fiercely. - -"No! No! No! No!" she protested. - -Feather was disgusted. This was not the kind of child to display. - -"Rude little thing! Andrews, come and make her do it--or take her -upstairs," she said. - -Coombe took his gold coffee cup from the mantel. - -"She regards me with marked antipathy, as she did when she first -saw me," he summed the matter up. "Children and animals don't hate -one without reason. It is some remote iniquity in my character -which the rest of us have not yet detected." To Robin he said, -"I do not want to shake hands with you if you object. I prefer to -drink my coffee out of this beautiful cup." - -But Andrews was seething. Having no conscience whatever, she -had instead the pride of a female devil in her perfection in her -professional duties. That the child she was responsible for should -stamp her with ignominious fourth-ratedness by conducting herself -with as small grace as an infant costermonger was more than -her special order of flesh and blood could bear--and yet she must -outwardly control the flesh and blood. - -In obedience to her mistress' command, she crossed the room and -bent down and whispered to Robin. She intended that her countenance -should remain non-committal, but, when she lifted her head, she -met Coombe's eyes and realized that perhaps it had not. She added -to her whisper nursery instructions in a voice of sugar. - -"Be pretty mannered, Miss Robin, my dear, and shake hands with -his lordship." - -Each person in the little drawing-room saw the queer flame in the -child-face--Coombe himself was fantastically struck by the sudden -thought that its expression might have been that of an obstinate -young martyr staring at the stake. Robin shrilled out her words: - -"Andrews will pinch me--Andrews will pinch me! But--No!--No!" and -she kept her hand behind her back. - -"Oh, Miss Robin, you naughty child!" cried Andrews, with pathos. -"Your poor Andrews that takes such care of you!" - -"Horrid little thing!" Feather pettishly exclaimed. "Take her -upstairs, Andrews. She shall not come down again." - -Harrowby, settling his pince nez a little excitedly in the spurred -novelty of his interest, murmured, - -"If she doesn't want to go, she will begin to shriek. This looks -as if she were a little termagant." - -But she did not shriek when Andrews led her towards the door. -The ugly one with the wicked face was the one who had done it. He -filled her with horror. To have touched him would have been like -touching some wild beast of prey. That was all. She went with -Andrews quite quietly. - -"Will you shake hands with me?" said the Starling, goodnaturedly, -as she passed, "I hope she won't snub me," she dropped aside to -Harrowby. - -Robin put out her hand prettily. - -"Shake mine," suggested Harrowby, and she obeyed him. - -"And mine?" smiled Vesey, with his best allure. She gave him -her hand, and, as a result of the allure probably, a tiny smile -flickered about the corners of her mouth. He did not look wicked. - -"I remain an outcast," remarked Coombe, as the door closed behind -the little figure. - -"I detest an ill-mannered child," said Feather. "She ought to be -slapped. We used to be slapped if we were rude." - -"She said Andrews would pinch her. Is pinching the customary -discipline?" - -"It ought to be. She deserves it." Feather was quite out of temper. -"But Andrews is too good to her. She is a perfect creature and -conducts herself like a clock. There has never been the slightest -trouble in the Nursery. You see how the child looks--though her -face ISN'T quite as round as it was." She laughed disagreeably -and shrugged her white undressed shoulders. "I think it's a little -horrid, myself--a child of that age fretting herself thin about -a boy." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - - - - -But though she had made no protest on being taken out of the -drawing-room, Robin had known that what Andrews' soft-sounding -whisper had promised would take place when she reached the Nursery. -She was too young to feel more than terror which had no defense -whatever. She had no more defense against Andrews than she had -had against the man who had robbed her of Donal. They were both -big and powerful, and she was nothing. But, out of the wonders -she had begun to know, there had risen in her before almost inert -little being a certain stirring. For a brief period she had learned -happiness and love and woe, and, this evening, inchoate rebellion -against an enemy. Andrews led by the hand up the narrow, top-story -staircase something she had never led before. She was quite unaware -of this and, as she mounted each step, her temper mounted also, -and it was the temper of an incensed personal vanity abnormally -strong in this particular woman. When they were inside the Nursery -and the door was shut, she led Robin to the middle of the small -and gloomy room and released her hand. - -"Now, my lady," she said. "I'm going to pay you out for disgracing -me before everybody in the drawing-room." She had taken the child -below stairs for a few minutes before bringing her up for the -night. She had stopped in the kitchen for something she wanted for -herself. She laid her belongings on a chest of drawers and turned -about. - -"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget," she said. - -What happened next turned the woman quite sick with the shock of -amazement. The child had, in the past, been a soft puppet. She -had been automatic obedience and gentleness. Privately Andrews -had somewhat looked down on her lack of spirit, though it had been -her own best asset. The outbreak downstairs had been an abnormality. - -And now she stood before her with hands clenched, her little face -wild with defiant rage. - -"I'll scream! I'll scream! I'll SCREAM!" she shrieked. Andrews -actually heard herself gulp; but she sprang up and forward. - -"You'll SCREAM!" she could scarcely believe her own feelings--not -to mention the evidence of her ears, "YOU'LL scream!" - -The next instant was more astonishing still. Robin threw herself on -her knees and scrambled like a cat. She was under the bed and in -the remotest corner against the wall. She was actually unreachable, -and she lay on her back kicking madly, hammering her heels against -the floor and uttering piercing shrieks. As something had seemed -to let itself go when she writhed under the bushes in the Gardens, -so did something let go now. In her overstrung little mind there -ruled for this moment the feeling that if she was to be pinched, -she would be pinched for a reason. - -Andrews knelt by the side of the bed. She had a long, strong, -thin arm and it darted beneath and clutched. But it was not long -enough to attain the corner where the kicking and screaming was -going on. Her temper became fury before her impotence and her -hideous realization of being made ridiculous by this baby of six. -Two floors below the afterglow of the little dinner was going on. -Suppose even far echoes of the screams should be heard and make -her more ridiculous still. She knew how they would laugh and her -mistress would make some silly joke about Robin's being too much -for her. Her fury rose so high that she had barely sense to realize -that she must not let herself go too far when she got hold of the -child. Get hold of her she would and pay her out--My word! She -would pay her out! - -"You little devil!" she said between her teeth, "Wait till I get -hold of you." And Robin shrieked and hammered more insanely still. - -The bed was rather a low one and it was difficult for any one larger -than a child to find room beneath it. The correct and naturally -rigid Andrews lay flat upon her stomach and wriggled herself partly -under the edge. Just far enough for her long and strong arm, and -equally long and strong clutching fingers to do their work. In her -present state of mind, Andrews would have broken her back rather -than not have reached the creature who so defied her. The strong -fingers clenched a flying petticoat and dragged at it fiercely--the -next moment they clutched a frantic foot, with a power which could -not be broken away from. A jerk and a remorseless dragging over -the carpet and Robin was out of the protecting darkness and in -the gas light again, lying tumbled and in an untidy, torn little -heap on the nursery floor. Andrews was panting, but she did not -loose her hold as she scrambled, without a rag of professional -dignity, to her feet. - -"My word!" she breathlessly gave forth. "I've got you now! I've -got you now." - -She so looked that to Robin she seemed--like the ugly man -downstairs--a sort of wicked wild beast, whose mere touch would -have been horror even if it did not hurt. And the child knew what -was coming. She felt herself dragged up from the floor and also -dragged between Andrew's knees, which felt bony and hard as iron. -There was no getting away from them. Andrews had seated herself -firmly on a chair. - -Holding her between the iron knees, she put her large hand over -her mouth. It was a hand large enough to cover more than her mouth. -Only the panic-stricken eyes seemed to flare wide and lustrous -above it. - -"YOU'LL scream!" she said, "YOU'LL hammer on the floor with your -heels! YOU'LL behave like a wildcat--you that's been like a kitten! -You've never done it before and you'll never do it again! If it -takes me three days, I'll make you remember!" - -And then her hand dropped--and her jaw dropped, and she sat staring -with a furious, sick, white face at the open door--which she had -shut as she came in. The top floor had always been so safe. The -Nursery had been her own autocratic domain. There had been no -human creature to whom it would have occurred to interfere. That -was it. She had been actually SAFE. - -Unheard in the midst of the struggle, the door had been opened -without a knock. There on the threshold, as stiff as a ramrod, -and with his hateful eyes uncovering their gleam, Lord Coombe was -standing--no other than Lord Coombe. - -Having a sharp working knowledge of her world, Andrews knew that -it was all up. He had come upstairs deliberately. She knew what -he had come for. He was as clever as he was bad, and he had seen -something when he glanced at her in the drawing-room. Now he had -heard and seen her as she dragged Robin from under the bed. He'd -come up for that--for some queer evil reason of his own. The -promptings of a remote gutter training made her feel a desire to -use language such as she still had wisdom enough to restrain. - -"You are a very great fool, young woman," he said. "You have -nothing but your character as a nurse to live on. A scene in a -police court would ruin you. There is a Society which interferes -with nursery torture." - -Robin, freed from the iron grasp, had slunk behind a chair. He -was there again. - -Andrews' body, automatically responsive to rule and habit, rose from -its seat and stood before this member of a class which required -an upright position. She knew better than to attempt to excuse or -explain. She had heard about the Society and she knew publicity would -spell ruin and starvation. She had got herself into an appalling -mess. Being caught--there you were. But that this evil-reputationed -swell should actually have been awakened by some whim to notice -and follow her up was "past her," as she would have put it. - -"You were going to pinch her--by instalments, I suppose," he -said. "You inferred that it might last three days. When she said -you would--in the drawing-room--it occurred to me to look into it. -What are your wages?" - -"Thirty pounds a year, my lord." - -"Go tomorrow morning to Benby, who engaged you for Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. -He will be at his office by nine and will pay you what is owed to -you--and a month's wages in lieu of notice." - -"The mistress--" began Andrews. - -"I have spoken to Mrs. Gareth-Lawless." It was a lie, serenely -told. Feather was doing a new skirt dance in the drawing-room. -"She is engaged. Pack your box. Jennings will call a cab." - -It was the utter idiotic hopelessness of saying anything to -him which finished her. You might as well talk to a front door or -a street lamp. Any silly thing you might try wouldn't even reach -his ears. He had no ears for you. You didn't matter enough. - -"Shall I leave her here--as she is?" she said, denoting Robin. - -"Undress her and put her to bed before you pack your box," absolutely -certain, fine cold modulations in the voice, which stood for his -special plane of breeding, had their effect on her grovelling -though raging soul. He was so exactly what he was and what she -was not and could never attain. "I will stay here while you do -it. Then go." - -No vocabulary of the Servants' Hall could have encompassed the fine -phrase grand seigneur, but, when Mrs. Blayne and the rest talked -of him in their least resentful and more amiable moods, they -unconsciously made efforts to express the quality in him which -these two words convey. He had ways of his own. Men that paid a -pretty woman's bills and kept her going in luxury, Jennings and -Mrs. Blayne and the others knew something about. They sometimes -began well enough but, as time went on, they forgot themselves -and got into the way of being familiar and showing they realized -that they paid for things and had their rights. Most of them began -to be almost like husbands--speak slighting and sharp and be a bit -stiff about accounts--even before servants. They ran in and out -or--after a while--began to stay away and not show up for weeks. -"He" was different--so different that it was queer. Queer it certainly -was that he really came to the place very seldom. Wherever they -met, it didn't noticeably often happen in the slice of a house. -He came as if he were a visitor. He took no liberties. Everything -was punctiliously referred to Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. Mr. Benby, who -did everything, conducted himself outwardly as if he were a sort -of man of business in Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' employ. It was open to -the lenient to believe that she depended on some mysterious private -income. There were people who preferred to try to believe this, -but there were those who, in some occult way, knew exactly where -her income came from. There were, in fact, hypercritical persons -who did not know or notice her, but she had quite an entertaining, -smart circle which neither suspicions nor beliefs prevented from -placing her in their visiting lists. Coombe DID keep it up in the -most perfect manner, some of them said admiringly among themselves. -He showed extraordinarily perfect taste. Many fashionable open -secrets, accepted by a brilliant world, were not half so fastidiously -managed. Andrews knew he had unswervingly lied when he said he -had "spoken to Mrs. Gareth-Lawless." But he never failed to place -her in the position of authority. That he should have presented -himself on the nursery floor was amazingly abnormal enough to -mean some state of mind unregulated by all natural rules. "Him," -Andrews thought, "that never steps out of a visitor's place in -the drawing-room turning up on the third floor without a word!" -One thing she knew, and that came first. Behind all the polite show -he was the head of everything. And he was one that you'd better -not give back a sound to if you knew what was good for yourself. -Whatever people said against his character, he was one of the -grand and high ones. A word from him--ever so quiet--and you'd be -done for. - -She was shaking with fear inwardly, but she undressed Robin and -put her in bed, laying everything away and making things tidy for -the night. - -"This is the Night Nursery, I suppose," Coombe had said when she -began. He put up his glasses and looked the uninviting little room -over. He scrutinized it and she wondered what his opinion of it -might be. - -"Yes, my lord. The Day Nursery is through that door." He walked -through the door in question and she could see that he moved slowly -about it, examining the few pieces of furniture curiously, still -with his glass in his eye. She had finished undressing Robin -and had put her in her bed before he came back into the sleeping -apartment. By that time, exhausted by the unknown tempest she had -passed through, the child had dropped asleep in spite of herself. -She was too tired to remember that her enemy was in the next room. - -"I have seen the child with you several times when you have not -been aware of it," Coombe said to her before he went downstairs. -"She has evidently been well taken care of as far as her body -is concerned. If you were not venomous--if you had merely struck -her, when you lost your temper, you might have had another trial. -I know nothing about children, but I know something about the -devil, and if ever the devil was in a woman's face and voice the -devil was in yours when you dragged the little creature from under -the bed. If you had dared, you would have killed her. Look after -that temper, young woman. Benby shall keep an eye on you if you -take another place as nurse, and I shall know where you are." - -"My lord!" Andrews gasped. "You wouldn't overlook a woman and take -her living from her and send her to starvation!" - -"I would take her living from her and send her to starvation -without a shadow of compunction," was the reply made in the fine -gentleman's cultivated voice, "--if she were capable of what you -were capable of tonight. You are, I judge, about forty, and, though -you are lean, you are a powerful woman; the child is, I believe, -barely six." And then, looking down at her through his glass, he -added--to her quite shuddering astonishment--in a tone whose very -softness made it really awful to her, "Damn you! Damn you!" - -"I'll--I swear I'll never let myself go again, my lord!" the woman -broke out devoutly. - -"I don't think you will. It would cost you too much," he said. - -Then he went down the steep, crooked little staircase quite -soundlessly and Andrews, rather white and breathless, went and -packed her trunk. Robin--tired baby as she was--slept warm and -deeply. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - - - - -It was no custom of his to outstay other people; in fact, he -usually went away comparatively early. Feather could not imagine -what his reason could be, but she was sure there was a reason. -She was often disturbed by his reasons, and found it difficult to -adjust herself to them. How--even if one had a logically brilliant -mind--could one calculate on a male being, who seemed not exactly -to belong to the race of men. - -As a result of the skirt dancing, the furniture of the empty -drawing-room was a little scattered and untidy, but Feather had -found a suitable corner among cushions on a sofa, after everyone -had gone leaving Coombe alone with her. She wished he would sit -down, but he preferred to stand in his still, uncomfortable way. - -"I know you are going to tell me something," she broke the silence. - -"I am. When I went out of the room, I did not drive round to my -club as I said I found myself obliged to. I went upstairs to the -third floor--to the Nursery." - -Feather sat quite upright. - -"YOU went up to the Nursery!" If this was the reason for his staying, -what on earth had he come upon in the region of the third floor, -and how ridiculously unlike him to allow himself to interfere. -Could it be Andrews and Jennings? Surely Andrews was too old.--This -passed across her mind in a flash. - -"You called Andrews to use her authority with the child when she -would not shake hands with me. The little creature, for some reason -of her own, evidently feels an antipathy to me. That interested -me and I watched her as Andrews whispered in her ear. The woman's -vanity was stung. I realized that she whispered a threat. A hint -of actual ferocity showed in her eyes in spite of herself. Robin -turned pale." - -"Andrews was quite right. Children must be punished when they are -rude." Feather felt this at once silly and boring. What did he -know about such matters? - -"The child said, 'Andrews will pinch me!' and I caught Andrews' eye -and knew it was true--also that she had done it before. I looked -at the woman's long, thin, strong fingers. They were cruel fingers. -I do not take liberties, as a rule, but I took a liberty. I excused -myself and climbed three flights of stairs." - -Never had Feather been so surprised in her life. She looked like -a bewildered child. - -"But--what COULD it matter to YOU?" she said in soft amaze. - -"I don't know," his answer came after a moment's pause. "I have -caprices of mood. Certain mental images made my temperature rise. -Momentarily it did matter. One is like that at times. Andrews' -feline face and her muscular fingers--and the child's extraordinarily -exquisite flesh--gave me a second's furious shudder." - -Feather quite broke in upon him. - -"Are you--are you FOND of children?" - -"No," he was really abrupt. "I never thought of such a thing in -my life--as being FOND of things." - -"That was what--I mean I thought so." Feather faltered, as if in -polite acquiescence with a quite natural fact. - -Coombe proceeded: - -"As I went up the stairs I heard screams and I thought that -the pinching had begun. I got up quickly and opened the door and -found the woman lying flat on the floor by the bed, dragging out -the child who had hidden under it. The woman's face was devilish, -and so was her voice. I heard her threats. She got on her feet and -dragged the child up and held her between her knees. She clapped -her hand over mouth to stifle her shrieks. There I stopped her. -She had a fright at sight of me which taught her something." He -ended rather slowly. "I took the great liberty of ordering her -to pack her box and leave the house--course," with a slight bow, -"using you as my authority." - -"Andrews!" cried Feather, aghast. "Has she--gone?" - -"Would you have kept her?" he inquired. - -"It's true that--that PINCHING" Feather's voice almost held tears, -"--really HARD pinching is--is not proper. But Andrews has been -invaluable. Everyone says Robin is better dressed and better kept -than other children. And she is never allowed to make the least -noise--" - -"One wouldn't if one were pinched by those devilish, sinewy fingers -every time one raised one's voice. Yes. She has gone. I ordered -her to put her charge to bed before she packed. I did not leave -her alone with Robin. In fact, I walked about the two nurseries -and looked them over." - -He had walked about the Night Nursery and the Day Nursery! He--the -Head of the House of Coombe, whose finely acrid summing up of -things, they were all secretly afraid of, if the truth were known. -"They" stood for her smart, feverishly pleasure-chasing set. In -their way, they half unconsciously tried to propitiate something -in him, always without producing the least effect. Her mental -vision presented to her his image as he had walked about the horrid -little rooms, his somewhat stiffly held head not much below the -low ceilings. He had taken in shabby carpets, furniture, faded -walls, general dim dinginess. - -"It's an unholy den for anything to spend its days in--that third -floor," he made the statement detachedly, in a way. "If she's six, -she has lived six years there--and known nothing else." - -"All London top floors are like it," said Feather, "and they are -all nurseries and school rooms--where there are children." - -His faintly smiling glance took in her girl-child slimness in its -glittering sheath--the zephyr scarf floating from the snow of her -bared loveliness--her delicate soft chin deliciously lifted as she -looked up at him. - -"How would YOU like it?" he asked. - -"But I am not a child," in pretty protest. "Children are--are -different!" - -"You look like a child," he suddenly said, queerly--as if the -aspect of her caught him for an instant and made him absent-minded. -"Sometimes--a woman does. Not often." - -She bloomed into a kind of delighted radiance. - -"You don't often pay me compliments," she said. "That is a beautiful -one. Robin--makes it more beautiful." - -"It isn't a compliment," he answered, still watching her in the -slightly absent manner. "It is--a tragic truth." - -He passed his hand lightly across his eyes as if he swept something -away, and then both looked and spoke exactly as before. - -"I have decided to buy the long lease of this house. It is for -sale," he said, casually. "I shall buy it for the child." - -"For Robin!" said Feather, helplessly. - -"Yes, for Robin." - -"It--it would be an income--whatever happened. It is in the very -heart of Mayfair," she said, because, in her astonishment--almost -consternation--she could think of nothing else. He would not buy -it for her. He thought her too silly to trust. But, if it were -Robin's--it would be hers also. A girl couldn't turn her own -mother into the street. Amid the folds of her narrow being hid -just one spark of shrewdness which came to life where she herself -was concerned. - -"Two or three rooms--not large ones--can be added at the back," -he went on. "I glanced out of a window to see if it could be done." - -Incomprehensible as he was, one might always be sure of a certain -princeliness in his inexplicable methods. He never was personal -or mean. An addition to the slice of a house! That really WAS -generous! Entrancement filled her. - -"That really is kind of you," she murmured, gratefully. "It seems -too much to ask!" - -"You did not ask it," was his answer. - -"But I shall benefit by it. Nothing COULD BE nicer. These rooms -are so much too small," glancing about her in flushed rapture, "And -my bedroom is dreadful. I'm obliged to use Rob's for a dressing-room." - -"The new rooms will be for Robin," he said. An excellent method he -had discovered, of entirely detaching himself from the excitements -and emotions of other persons, removed the usual difficulties -in the way of disappointing--speaking truths to--or embarrassing -people who deserved it. It was this method which had utterly cast -down the defences of Andrews. Feather was so wholly left out of the -situation that she was actually almost saved from its awkwardness. -"When one is six," he explained, "one will soon be seven--nine--twelve. -Then the teens begin to loom up and one cannot be concealed in -cupboards on a top floor. Even before that time a governess is -necessary, and, even from the abyss of my ignorance, I see that no -respectable woman would stand either the Night or the Day Nursery. -Your daughter--" - -"Oh, don't call her THAT!" cried Feather. "My daughter! It sounds -as if she were eighteen!" She felt as if she had a sudden hideous -little shock. Six years HAD passed since Bob died! A daughter! A -school girl with long hair and long legs to keep out of the way. -A grown-up girl to drag about with one. Never would she do it! - -"Three sixes are eighteen," Coombe continued, "as was impressed -upon one in early years by the multiplication table." - -"I never saw you so interested in anything before," Feather faltered. -"Climbing steep, narrow, horrid stairs to her nursery! Dismissing -her nurse!" She paused a second, because a very ugly little idea -had clutched at her. It arose from and was complicated with many -fantastic, half formed, secret resentments of the past. It made -her laugh a shade hysterical. - -"Are you going to see that she is properly brought up and educated, -so that if--anyone important falls in love with her she can make -a good match?" - -Hers was quite a hideous little mind, he was telling himself--fearful -in its latter day casting aside of all such small matters as taste -and feeling. People stripped the garments from things in these -days. He laughed inwardly at himself and his unwitting "these -days." Senile severity mouthed just such phrases. Were they not -his own days and the outcome of a past which had considered itself -so much more decorous? Had not boldly questionable attitudes been -held in those other days? How long was it since the Prince Regent -himself had flourished? It was only that these days brought it -all close against one's eyes. But this exquisite creature had a -hideous little mind of her own whatsoever her day. - -Later, he confessed to himself that he was unprepared to see her -spring to her feet and stand before him absurdly, fantastically -near being impassioned. - -"You think I as too silly to SEE anything," she broke forth. "But -I do see--a long way sometimes. I can't bear it but I do--I do! -I shall have a grown-up daughter. She will be the kind of girl -everyone will look at--and someone--important--may want to marry -her. But, Oh!--" He was reminded of the day when she had fallen -at his feet, and clasped his rigid and reluctant knees. This was -something of the same feeble desperation of mood. "Oh, WHY couldn't -someone like that have wanted to marry ME! See!" she was like -a pathetic fairy as she spread her nymphlike arms, "how PRETTY I -am!" - -His gaze held her a moment in the singular fashion with which she -had become actually familiar, because--at long intervals--she kept -seeing it again. He quite gently took her fingers and returned -her to her sofa. - -"Please sit down again," he requested. "It will be better." - -She sat down without another imbecile word to say. As for him, he -changed the subject. - -"With your permission, Benby will undertake the business of the -lease and the building," he explained. "The plans will be brought -to you. We will go over them together, if you wish. There will be -decent rooms for Robin and her governess. The two nurseries can be -made fit for human beings to live in and used for other purposes. -The house will be greatly improved." - -It was nearly three o'clock when Feather went upstairs to her -dozing maid, because, after he had left her, she sat some time in -the empty, untidy little drawing-room and gazed straight before -her at a painted screen on which shepherdesses and swains were -dancing in a Watteau glade infested by flocks of little Loves. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - - - - - -When, from Robin's embarrassed young consciousness, there had -welled up the hesitating confession, "She--doesn't like me," she -could not, of course, have found words in which to make the reasons -for her knowledge clear, but they had for herself no obscurity. -The fair being who, at rare intervals, fluttered on the threshold -of her world had a way of looking at her with a shade of aloof -distaste in her always transient gaze. - -The unadorned fact was that Feather did NOT like her. She had been -outraged by her advent. A baby was absurdly "out of the picture." -So far as her mind encompassed a future, she saw herself flitting -from flower to flower of "smart" pleasures and successes, -somehow, with more money and more exalted invitations--"something" -vaguely--having happened to the entire Lawdor progeny, and she, -therefore, occupying a position in which it was herself who could -gracefully condescend to others. There was nothing so "stodgy" -as children in the vision. When the worst came to the worst, she -had been consoled by the thought that she had really managed the -whole thing very cleverly. It was easier, of course, to so arrange -such things in modern days and in town. The Day Nursery and the -Night Nursery on the third floor, a smart-looking young woman -who knew her business, who even knew what to buy for a child and -where to buy it, without troubling any one simplified the situation. -Andrews had been quite wonderful. Nobody can bother one about -a healthy, handsome child who is seen meticulously cared for and -beautifully dressed, being pushed or led or carried out in the open -air every day. - -But there had arrived the special morning when she had seen a -child who so stood out among a dozen children that she had been -startled when she recognized that it was Robin. Andrews had taken -her charge to Hyde Park that day and Feather was driving through -the Row on her way to a Knightsbridge shop. First her glance had -been caught by the hair hanging to the little hips--extraordinary -hair in which Andrews herself had a pride. Then she had seen the -slender, exquisitely modeled legs, and the dancing sway of the -small body. A wonderfully cut, stitched, and fagotted smock and hat -she had, of course, taken in at a flash. When the child suddenly -turned to look at some little girls in a pony cart, the amazing -damask of her colour, and form and depth of eye had given her another -slight shock. She realized that what she had thrust lightly away -in a corner of her third floor produced an unmistakable effect when -turned out into the light of a gay world. The creature was tall -too--for six years old. Was she really six? It seemed incredible. -Ten more years and she would be sixteen. - -Mrs. Heppel-Bevill had a girl of fifteen, who was a perfect -catastrophe. She read things and had begun to talk about her "right -to be a woman." Emily Heppel-Bevill was only thirty-seven--three -years from forty. Feather had reached the stage of softening in -her disdain of the women in their thirties. She had found herself -admitting that--in these days--there were women of forty who had -not wholly passed beyond the pale into that outer darkness where -there was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. But there -was no denying that this six year old baby, with the dancing step, -gave one--almost hysterically--"to think." Her imagination could -not--never had and never would she have allowed it to--grasp any -belief that she herself could change. A Feather, No! But a creature -of sixteen, eighteen--with eyes that shape--with lashes an inch -long--with yards of hair--standing by one's side in ten years! It -was ghastly! - -Coombe, in his cold perfunctory way, climbing the crooked, narrow -stairs, dismissing Andrews--looking over the rooms--dismissing -them, so to speak, and then remaining after the rest had gone -to reveal to her a new abnormal mood--that, in itself alone, was -actually horrible. It was abnormal and yet he had always been more -or less like that in all things. Despite everything--everything--he -had never been in love with her at all. At first she had believed -he was--then she had tried to make him care for her. He had never -failed her, he had done everything in his grand seigneur fashion. -Nobody dare make gross comment upon her, but, while he saw her -loveliness as only such a man could--she had gradually realized -that she had never had even a chance with him. She could not -even think that if she had not been so silly and frightened that -awful day six years ago, and had not lost her head, he might have -admired her more and more and in the end asked her to marry him. -He had said there must be no mistakes, and she had not been allowed -to fall into making one. The fact that she had not, had, finally, -made her feel the power of a certain fascination in him. She thought -it was a result of his special type of looks, his breeding, the -wonderful clothes he wore--but it was, in truth, his varieties of -inaccessibility. - -"A girl might like him," she had said to herself that night--she -sat up late after he left her. "A girl who--who had up-to-date sense -might. Modern people don't grow old as they used to. At fifty-five -he won't be fat, or bald and he won't have lost his teeth. People -have found out they needn't. He will be as thin and straight as -he is today--and nothing can alter his nose. He will be ten years -cleverer than he is now. Buying the house for a child of that -age--building additional rooms for her!" - -In the fevered, rapid, deep-dipping whirl of the life which was -the only one she knew, she had often seen rather trying things -happen--almost unnatural changes in situations. People had overcome -the folly of being afraid to alter their minds and their views -about what they had temporarily believed were permanent bonds and -emotions. Bonds had become old fogeyish. Marriages went to pieces, -the parties in love affairs engaged in a sort of "dance down the -middle" and turn other people's partners. The rearrangement of -figures sometimes made for great witticism. Occasionally people -laughed at themselves as at each other. The admirers of engaging -matrons had been known to renew their youth at the coming-out balls -of lovely daughters in their early teens, and to end by assuming -the flowery chains of a new allegiance. Time had, of course, -been when such a volte face would have aroused condemnation and -indignant discussion, but a humorous leniency spent but little -time in selecting terms of severity. Feather had known of several -such contretemps ending in quite brilliant matches. The enchanting -mothers usually consoled themselves with great ease, and, if the -party of each part was occasionally wittily pungent in her comments -on the other, everybody laughed and nobody had time to criticize. -A man who had had much to bestow and who preferred in youth -to bestow it upon himself was not infrequently more in the mood -for the sharing of marriage when years had revealed to him the -distressing fact that he was not, and had never been, the centre of -the universe, which distressing fact is one so unfairly concealed -from youth in bloom. - -It was, of course, but as a vaguely outlined vision that these -recognitions floated through what could only be alleged to be -Feather's mind because there was no other name for it. The dark -little staircase, the rejected and despised third floor, and Coombe -detachedly announcing his plans for the house, had set the--so to -speak--rather malarious mist flowing around her. A trying thing -was that it did not really dispel itself altogether, but continued -to hang about the atmosphere surrounding other and more cheerful -things. Almost impalpably it added to the familiar feeling--or lack -of feeling--with regard to Robin. She had not at all hated the -little thing; it had merely been quite true that, in an inactive -way, she had not LIKED her. In the folds of the vague mist quietly -floated the truth that she now liked her less. - -Benby came to see and talk to her on the business of the -structural changes to be made. He conducted himself precisely as -though her views on the matter were of value and could not, in -fact, be dispensed with. He brought the architect's plans with him -and explained them with care. They were clever plans which made -the most of a limited area. He did not even faintly smile when -it revealed itself to him, as it unconsciously did, that Mrs. -Gareth-Lawless regarded their adroit arrangement as a singular -misuse of space which could have been much better employed for -necessities of her own. She was much depressed by the ground floor -addition which might have enlarged her dining-room, but which was -made into a sitting-room for Robin and her future governess. - -"And that is in ADDITION to her schoolroom which might have been -thrown into the drawing-room--besides the new bedrooms which I -needed so much," she said. - -"The new nurse, who is a highly respectable person," explained -Benby, "could not have been secured if she had not known that -improvements were being made. The reconstruction of the third floor -will provide suitable accommodations." - -The special forte of Dowson, the new nurse, was a sublimated -respectability far superior to smartness. She had been mystically -produced by Benby and her bonnets and jackets alone would have -revealed her selection from almost occult treasures. She wore -bonnets and "jackets," not hats and coats. - -"In the calm days of Her Majesty, nurses dressed as she does. I do -not mean in the riotous later years of her reign--but earlier--when -England dreamed in terms of Crystal Palaces and Great Exhibitions. -She can only be the result of excavation," Coombe said of her. - -She was as proud of her respectability as Andrews had been of her -smartness. This had, in fact, proved an almost insuperable obstacle -to her engagement. The slice of a house, with its flocking in and -out of chattering, smart people in marvellous clothes was not the -place for her, nor was Mrs. Gareth-Lawless the mistress of her -dreams. But her husband had met with an accident and must be kept -in a hospital, and an invalid daughter must live by the seaside--and -suddenly, when things were at their worst with her, had come -Benby with a firm determination to secure her with wages such as -no other place would offer. Besides which she had observed as she -had lived. - -"Things have changed," she reflected soberly. "You've got to resign -yourself and not be too particular." - -She accepted the third floor, as Benby had said, because it was to -be rearranged and the Night and Day Nurseries, being thrown into -one, repainted and papered would make a decent place to live in. -At the beautiful little girl given into her charge she often looked -in a puzzled way, because she knew a good deal about children, and -about this one there was something odd. Her examination of opened -drawers and closets revealed piles of exquisite garments of all -varieties, all perfectly kept. In these dingy holes, which called -themselves nurseries, she found evidence that money had been spent -like water so that the child, when she was seen, might look like -a small princess. But she found no plaything--no dolls or toys, -and only one picture book, and that had "Donal" written on the -fly leaf and evidently belonged to someone else. - -What exactly she would have done when she had had time to think -the matter over, she never knew, because, a few days after her -arrival, a tall, thin gentleman, coming up the front steps as she -was going out with Robin, stopped and spoke to her as if he knew -who she was. - -"You know the kind of things children like to play with, nurse?" -he said. - -She respectfully replied that she had had long experience with -young desires. She did not know as yet who he was, but there was -that about him which made her feel that, while there was no knowing -what height his particular exaltation in the matter of rank might -reach, one would be safe in setting it high. - -"Please go to one of the toy shops and choose for the child what -she will like best. Dolls--games--you will know what to select. -Send the bill to me at Coombe House. I am Lord Coombe." - -"Thank you, my lord," Dowson answered, with a sketch of a curtsey, -"Miss Robin, you must hold out your little hand and say 'thank -you' to his lordship for being so kind. He's told Dowson to buy -you some beautiful dolls and picture books as a present." - -Robin's eyelashes curled against her under brows in her wide, still -glance upward at him. Here was "the one" again! She shut her hand -tightly into a fist behind her back. - -Lord Coombe smiled a little--not much. - -"She does not like me," he said. "It is not necessary that -she should give me her hand. I prefer that she shouldn't, if she -doesn't want to. Good morning, Dowson." - -To the well-regulated mind of Dowson, this seemed treating too -lightly a matter as serious as juvenile incivility. She remonstrated -gravely and at length with Robin. - -"Little girls must behave prettily to kind gentlemen who are -friends of their mammas. It is dreadful to be rude and not say -'thank you'," she said. - -But as she talked she was vaguely aware that her words passed by -the child's ears as the summer wind passed. Perhaps it was all a -bit of temper and would disappear and leave no trace behind. At -the same time, there WAS something queer about the little thing. -She had a listless way of sitting staring out of the window and -seeming to have no desire to amuse herself. She was too young -to be listless and she did not care for her food. Dowson asked -permission to send for the doctor and, when he came, he ordered -sea air. - -"Of course, you can take her away for a few weeks," Mrs. Gareth-Lawless -said. Here she smiled satirically and added, "But I can tell you -what it is all about. The little minx actually fell in love with -a small boy she met in the Square Gardens and, when his mother -took him from London, she began to mope like a tiresome girl in -her teens. It's ridiculous, but is the real trouble." - -"Oh!" said Dowson, the low and respectful interjection expressing -a shade of disapproval, "Children do have fancies, ma'am. She'll -get over it if we give her something else to think of." - -The good woman went to one of the large toy shops and bought a -beautiful doll, a doll's house, and some picture books. When they -were brought up to the Day Nursery, Robin was asleep after a rather -long walk, which Dowson had decided would be good for her. When -she came later into the room, after the things had been unpacked, -she regarded them with an expression of actual dislike. - -"Isn't that a beautiful doll?" said Dowson, good-humouredly. "And -did you ever see such a lovely house? It was kind Lord Coombe who -gave them to you. Just you look at the picture books." - -Robin put her hands behind her back and would not touch them. Dowson, -who was a motherly creature with a great deal of commonsense, was -set thinking. She began to make guesses, though she was not yet -sufficiently familiar with the household to guess from any firm -foundation of knowledge of small things. - -"Come here, dear," she said, and drew the small thing to her knee. -"Is it because you don't love Lord Coombe?" she asked. - -"Yes," she answered. - -"But why?" said Dowson. "When he is such a kind gentleman?" - -But Robin would not tell her why and never did. She never told -any one, until years had passed, how this had been the beginning -of a hatred. The toys were left behind when she was taken to the -seaside. Dowson tried to persuade her to play with them several -times, but she would not touch them, so they were put away. Feeling -that she was dealing with something unusual, and, being a kindly -person, Dowson bought her some playthings on her own account. They -were simple things, but Robin was ready enough to like them. - -"Did YOU give them to me?" she asked. - -"Yes, I did, Miss Robin." - -The child drew near her after a full minute of hesitation. - -"I will KISS you!" she said solemnly, and performed the rite as -whole-souledly as Donal had done. - -"Dear little mite!" exclaimed the surprised Dowson. "Dear me!" And -there was actual moisture in her eyes as she squeezed the small -body in her arms. - -"She's the strangest mite I ever nursed," was her comment to Mrs. -Blayne below stairs. "It was so sudden, and she did it as if she'd -never done it before. I'd actually been thinking she hadn't any -feeling at all." - -"No reason why she should have. She's been taken care of by the -clock and dressed like a puppet, but she's not been treated human!" -broke forth Mrs. Blayne. - -Then the whole story was told--the "upstairs" story with much vivid -description, and the mentioning of many names and the dotting of -many "i's". Dowson had heard certain things only through vague -rumour, but now she knew and began to see her way. She had not -heard names before, and the definite inclusion of Lord Coombe's -suggested something to her. - -"Do you think the child could be JEALOUS of his lordship?" she -suggested. - -"She might if she knew anything about him--but she never saw him -until the night she was taken down into the drawing-room. She's -lived upstairs like a little dog in its kennel." - -"Well," Dowson reflected aloud, "it sounds almost silly to talk -of a child's hating any one, but that bit of a thing's eyes had -fair hate in them when she looked up at him where he stood. That -was what puzzled me." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - - - - -Before Robin had been taken to the seaside to be helped by the -bracing air of the Norfolk coast to recover her lost appetite -and forget her small tragedy, she had observed that unaccustomed -things were taking place in the house. Workmen came in and out -through the mews at the back and brought ladders with them and -tools in queer bags. She heard hammerings which began very early -in the morning and went on all day. As Andrews had trained her not -to ask tiresome questions, she only crept now and then to a back -window and peeped out. But in a few days Dowson took her away. - -When she came back to London, she was not taken up the steep dark -stairs to the third floor. Dowson led her into some rooms she had -never seen before. They were light and airy and had pretty walls -and furniture. A sitting-room on the ground floor had even a round -window with plants in it and a canary bird singing in a cage. - -"May we stay here?" she asked Dowson in a whisper. - -"We are going to live here," was the answer. - -And so they did. - -At first Feather occasionally took her intimates to see the -additional apartments. - -"In perfect splendour is the creature put up, and I with a bedroom -like a coalhole and such drawing-rooms as you see each time you -enter the house!" she broke forth spitefully one day when she -forgot herself. - -She said it to the Starling and Harrowby, who had been simply gazing -about them in fevered mystification, because the new development -was a thing which must invoke some more or less interesting -explanation. At her outbreak, all they could do was to gaze at her -with impartial eyes, which suggested question, and Feather shrugged -pettish shoulders. - -"You knew _I_ didn't do it. How could I?" she said. "It is a queer -whim of Coombe's. Of course, it is not the least like him. I call -it morbid." - -After which people knew about the matter and found it a subject -for edifying and quite stimulating discussion. There was something -fantastic in the situation. Coombe was the last man on earth to -have taken the slightest notice of the child's existence! It was -believed that he had never seen her--except in long clothes--until -she had glared at him and put her hand behind her back the night -she was brought into the drawing-room. She had been adroitly kept -tucked away in an attic somewhere. And now behold an addition of -several wonderful, small rooms built, furnished and decorated for -her alone, where she was to live as in a miniature palace attended -by servitors! Coombe, as a purveyor of nursery appurtenances, was -regarded with humour, the general opinion being that the eruption -of a volcano beneath his feet alone could have awakened his somewhat -chill self-absorption to the recognition of any child's existence. - -"To be exact we none of us really know anything in particular about -his mental processes." Harrowby pondered aloud. "He's capable of -any number of things we might not understand, if he condescended -to tell us about them--which he would never attempt. He has a -remote, brilliantly stored, cynical mind. He owns that he is of an -inhuman selfishness. I haven't a suggestion to make, but it sets one -searching through the purlieus of one's mind for an approximately -reasonable explanation." - -"Why 'purlieus'?" was the Starling's inquiry. Harrowby shrugged -his shoulders ever so lightly. - -"Well, one isn't searching for reasons founded on copy-book axioms," -he shook his head. "Coombe? No." - -There was a silence given to occult thought. - -"Feather is really in a rage and is too Feathery to be able to -conceal it," said Starling. - -"Feather would be--inevitably," Harrowby lifted his near-sighted -eyes to her curiously. "Can you see Feather in the future--when -Robin is ten years older?" - -"I can," the Starling answered. - - * * * * * - -The years which followed were changing years--growing years. Life -and entertainment went on fast and furiously in all parts of London, -and in no part more rapidly than in the slice of a house whose -front always presented an air of having been freshly decorated, -in spite of summer rain and winter soot and fog. The plants in -the window boxes seemed always in bloom, being magically replaced -in the early morning hours when they dared to hint at flagging. -Mrs. Gareth-Lawless, it was said, must be renewed in some such -mysterious morning way, as she merely grew prettier as she neared -thirty and passed it. Women did in these days! Which last phrase -had always been a useful one, probably from the time of the Flood. -Old fogeys, male and female, had used it in the past as a means of -scathingly unfavourable comparison, growing flushed and almost -gobbling like turkey cocks in their indignation. Now, as a phrase, it -was a support and a mollifier. "In these days" one knew better how -to amuse oneself, was more free to snatch at agreeable opportunity, -less in bondage to old fancies which had called themselves beliefs; -everything whirled faster and more lightly--danced, two-stepped, -instead of marching. - -Robin vaguely connected certain changes in her existence with the -changes which took place in the fashion of sleeves and skirts -which appeared to produce radical effects in the world she caught -glimpses of. Sometimes sleeves were closely fitted to people's -arms, then puffs sprang from them and grew until they were enormous -and required delicate manipulation when coats were put on; then -their lavishness of material fell from the shoulder to the wrists -and hung there swaying until some sudden development of skirt seemed -to distract their attention from themselves and they shrank into -unimportance and skirts changed instead. Afterwards, sometimes -figures were slim and encased in sheathlike draperies, sometimes -folds rippled about feet, "fullness" crept here or there or -disappeared altogether, trains grew longer or shorter or wider or -narrower, cashmeres, grosgrain silks and heavy satins were suddenly -gone and chiffon wreathed itself about the world and took possession -of it. Bonnets ceased to exist and hats were immense or tiny, tall -or flat, tilted at the back, at the side, at the front, worn over -the face or dashingly rolled back from it; feathers drooped or -stood upright at heights which rose and fell and changed position -with the changing seasons. No garment or individual wore the same -aspect for more than a month's time. It was necessary to change -all things with a rapidity matching the change of moods and fancies -which altered at the rate of the automobiles which dashed here -and there and everywhere, through country roads, through town, -through remote places with an unsparing swiftness which set a new -pace for the world. - -"I cannot hark back regretfully to stage coaches," said Lord Coombe. -"Even I was not born early enough for that. But in the days of -my youth and innocence express trains seemed almost supernatural. -One could drive a pair of horses twenty miles to make a country -visit, but one could not drive back the same day. One's circle -had its limitations and degrees of intimacy. Now it is possible -motor fifty miles to lunch and home to dine with guests from the -remotest corners of the earth. Oceans are crossed in six days, -and the eager flit from continent to continent. Engagements can be -made by cable and the truly enterprising can accept an invitation -to dine in America on a fortnight's notice. Telephones communicate -in a few seconds and no one is secure from social intercourse for -fifteen minutes. Acquaintances and correspondence have no limitations -because all the inhabitants of the globe can reach one by motor or -electricity. In moments of fatigue I revert to the days of Queen -Anne with pleasure." - -While these changes went on, Robin lived in her own world in her -own quarters at the rear of the slice of a house. During the early -years spent with Dowson, she learned gradually that life was a -better thing than she had known in the dreary gloom of the third -floor Day and Night Nurseries. She was no longer left to spend -hours alone, nor was she taken below stairs to listen blankly to -servants talking to each other of mysterious things with which she -herself and the Lady Downstairs and "him" were somehow connected, -her discovery of this fact being based on the dropping of voices -and sidelong glances at her and sudden warning sounds from Andrews. -She realized that Dowson would never pinch her, and the rooms she -lived in were pretty and bright. - -Gradually playthings and picture books appeared in them, which she -gathered Dowson presented her with. She gathered this from Dowson -herself. - -She had never played with the doll, and, by chance a day arriving -when Lord Coombe encountered Dowson in the street without her -charge, he stopped her again and spoke as before. - -"Is the little girl well and happy, Nurse?" he asked. - -"Quite well, my lord, and much happier than she used to be." - -"Did she," he hesitated slightly, "like the playthings you bought -her?" - -Dowson hesitated more than slightly but, being a sensible woman -and at the same time curious about the matter, she spoke the truth. - -"She wouldn't play with them at all, my lord. I couldn't persuade -her to. What her child's fancy was I don't know." - -"Neither do I--except that it is founded on a distinct dislike," -said Coombe. There was a brief pause. "Are you fond of toys -yourself, Dowson?" he inquired coldly. - -"I am that--and I know how to choose them, your lordship," replied -Dowson, with a large, shrewd intelligence. - -"Then oblige me by throwing away the doll and its accompaniments -and buying some toys for yourself, at my expense. You can present -them to Miss Robin as a personal gift. She will accept them from -you." - -He passed on his way and Dowson looked after him interestedly. - -"If she was his," she thought, "I shouldn't be puzzled. But she's -not--that I've ever heard of. He's got some fancy of his own the -same as Robin has, though you wouldn't think it to look at him. -I'd like to know what it is." - -It was a fancy--an old, old fancy--it harked back nearly thirty -years--to the dark days of youth and passion and unending tragedy -whose anguish, as it then seemed, could never pass--but which, -nevertheless, had faded with the years as they flowed by. And yet -left him as he was and had been. He was not sentimental about it, -he smiled at himself drearily--though never at the memory--when -it rose again and, through its vague power, led him to do strange -things curiously verging on the emotional and eccentric. But even -the child--who quite loathed him for some fantastic infant reason -of her own--even the child had her part in it. His soul oddly -withdrew itself into a far remoteness as he walked away and -Piccadilly became a shadow and a dream. - -Dowson went home and began to pack neatly in a box the neglected -doll and the toys which had accompanied her. Robin seeing her -doing it, asked a question. - -"Are they going back to the shop?" - -"No. Lord Coombe is letting me give them to a little girl who is -very poor and has to lie in bed because her back hurts her. His -lordship is so kind he does not want you to be troubled with them. -He is not angry. He is too good to be angry." - -That was not true, thought Robin. He had done THAT THING she -remembered! Goodness could not have done it. Only badness. - -When Dowson brought in a new doll and other wonderful things, a -little hand enclosed her wrist quite tightly as she was unpacking -the boxes. It was Robin's and the small creature looked at her -with a questioning, half appealing, half fierce. - -"Did he send them, Dowson?" - -"They are a present from me," Dowson answered comfortably, and -Robin said again, - -"I want to kiss you. I like to kiss you. I do." - -To those given to psychical interests and speculations, it might -have suggested itself that, on the night when the creature who had -seemed to Andrews a soft tissued puppet had suddenly burst forth -into defiance and fearless shrillness, some cerebral change had -taken place in her. From that hour her softness had become a thing -of the past. Dowson had not found a baby, but a brooding, little, -passionate being. She was neither insubordinate nor irritable, -but Dowson was conscious of a certain intensity of temperament -in her. She knew that she was always thinking of things of which -she said almost nothing. Only a sensible motherly curiosity, such -as Dowson's could have made discoveries, but a rare question put -by the child at long intervals sometimes threw a faint light. -There were questions chiefly concerning mothers and their habits -and customs. They were such as, in their very unconsciousness, -revealed a strange past history. Lights were most unconsciously -thrown by Mrs. Gareth-Lawless herself. Her quite amiable detachment -from all shadow of responsibility, her brilliantly unending -occupations, her goings in and out, the flocks of light, almost -noisy, intimates who came in and out with her revealed much to a -respectable person who had soberly watched the world. - -"The Lady Downstairs is my mother, isn't she?" Robin inquired -gravely once. - -"Yes, my dear," was Dowson's answer. - -A pause for consideration of the matter and then from Robin: - -"All mothers are not alike, Dowson, are they?" - -"No, my dear," with wisdom. - -Though she was not yet seven, life had so changed for her that it -was a far cry back to the Spring days in the Square Gardens. She -went back, however, back into that remote ecstatic past. - -"The Lady Downstairs is not--alike," she said at last, "Donal's -mother loved him. She let him sit in the same chair with her and -read in picture books. She kissed him when he was in bed." - -Jennings, the young footman who was a humourist, had, of course, -heard witty references to Robin's love affair while in attendance, -and he had equally, of course, repeated them below stairs. Therefore, - -Dowson had heard vague rumours but had tactfully refrained from -mentioning the subject to her charge. - -"Who was Donal?" she said now, but quite quietly. Robin did not -know that a confidante would have made her first agony easier to -bear. She was not really being confidential now, but, realizing -Dowson's comfortable kindliness, she knew that it would be safe -to speak to her. - -"He was a big boy," she answered keeping her eyes on Dowson's -face. "He laughed and ran and jumped. His eyes--" she stopped -there because she could not explain what she had wanted to say about -these joyous young eyes, which were the first friendly human ones -she had known. - -"He lives in Scotland," she began again. "His mother loved him. -He kissed me. He went away. Lord Coombe sent him." - -Dawson could not help her start. - -"Lord Coombe!" she exclaimed. - -Robin came close to her and ground her little fist into her knee, -until its plumpness felt almost bruised. - -"He is bad--bad--bad!" and she looked like a little demon. - -Being a wise woman, Dowson knew at once that she had come upon a -hidden child volcano, and it would be well to let it seethe into -silence. She was not a clever person, but long experience had -taught her that there were occasions when it was well to leave -a child alone. This one would not answer if she were questioned. -She would only become stubborn and furious, and no child should -be goaded into fury. Dowson had, of course, learned that the boy -was a relative of his lordship's and had a strict Scottish mother -who did not approve of the slice of a house. His lordship might -have been concerned in the matter--or he might not. But at least -Dowson had gained a side light. And how the little thing had cared! -Actually as if she had been a grown girl, Dowson found herself -thinking uneasily. - -She was rendered even a trifle more uneasy a few days later -when she came upon Robin sitting in a corner on a footstool with -a picture book on her knee, and she recognized it as the one she -had discovered during her first exploitation of the resources -of the third floor nursery. It was inscribed "Donal" and Robin -was not looking at it alone, but at something she held in her -hand--something folded in a crumpled, untidy bit of paper. - -Making a reason for nearing her corner, Dowson saw what the paper -held. The contents looked like the broken fragments of some dried -leaves. The child was gazing at them with a piteous, bewildered -face--so piteous that Dowson was sorry. - -"Do you want to keep those?" she asked. - -"Yes," with a caught breath. "Yes." - -"I will make you a little silk bag to hold them in," Dowson said, -actually feeling rather piteous herself. The poor, little lamb -with her picture book and her bits of broken dry leaves--almost -like senna. - -She sat down near her and Robin left her footstool and came to her. -She laid the picture book on her lap and the senna like fragments -of leaves on its open page. - -"Donal brought it to show me," she quavered. "He made pretty things -on the leaves--with his dirk." She recalled too much--too much all -at once. Her eyes grew rounder and larger with inescapable woe; -"Donal did! Donal!" And suddenly she hid her face deep in Dowson's -skirts and the tempest broke. She was so small a thing--so -inarticulate--and these were her dead! Dowson could only catch -her in her arms, drag her up on her knee, and rock her to and fro. - -"Good Lord! Good Lord!" was her inward ejaculation. "And she not -seven! What'll she do when she's seventeen! She's one of them -there's no help for!" - -It was the beginning of an affection. After this, when Dowson tucked -Robin in bed each night, she kissed her. She told her stories and -taught her to sew and to know her letters. Using some discretion -she found certain little playmates for her in the Gardens. But there -were occasions when all did not go well, and some pretty, friendly -child, who had played with Robin for a few days, suddenly seemed -to be kept strictly by her nurse's side. Once, when she was about -ten years old, a newcomer, a dramatic and too richly dressed little -person, after a day of wonderful imaginative playing appeared in the -Gardens the morning following to turn an ostentatious cold shoulder. - -"What is the matter?" asked Robin. - -"Oh, we can't play with you any more," with quite a flounce -superiority. - -"Why not?" said Robin, becoming haughty herself. - -"We can't. It's because of Lord Coombe." The little person had -really no definite knowledge of how Lord Coombe was concerned, -but certain servants' whisperings of names and mysterious phrases -had conveyed quite an enjoyable effect of unknown iniquity connected -with his lordship. - -Robin said nothing to Dowson, but walked up and down the paths -reflecting and building a slow fire which would continue to burn -in her young heart. She had by then passed the round, soft baby -period and had entered into that phase when bodies and legs grow -long and slender and small faces lose their first curves and begin -to show sharper modeling. - -Accepting the situation in its entirety, Dowson had seen that it -was well to first reach Lord Coombe with any need of the child's. -Afterwards, the form of presenting it to Mrs. Gareth-Lawless must -be gone through, but if she were first spoken to any suggestion -might be forgotten or intentionally ignored. - -Dowson became clever in her calculations as to when his lordship -might be encountered and where--as if by chance, and therefore, -quite respectfully. Sometimes she remotely wondered if he himself -did not make such encounters easy for her. But his manner never -altered in its somewhat stiff, expressionless chill of indifference. -He never was kindly in his manner to the child if he met her. -Dowson felt him at once casual and "lofty." Robin might have been -a bit of unconsidered rubbish, the sight of which slightly bored -him. 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. At this moment the other feeling -surged and burned. - -"They are beautiful legs," remarked a laughing young man jocularly, -"but perhaps she does not particularly want us to look at them. -Wait until she begins skirt dancing." And everybody laughed at once -and the child stood rigid--the object of their light ridicule--not -herself knowing that her whole little being was cursing them aloud. - -Coombe stepped to the little table and bestowed a casual glance -on the pencil marks. - -"What is she doing?" he asked as casually of Dowson. - -"She is learning to make pothooks, my lord," Dowson answered. -"She's a child that wants to be learning things. I've taught her -her letters and to spell little words. She's quick--and old enough, -your lordship." - -"Learning to read and write!" exclaimed Feather. - -"Presumption, I call it. I don't know how to read and write--least -I don't know how to spell. Do you know how to spell, Collie?" to -the young man, whose name was Colin. "Do you, Genevieve? Do you, -Artie?" - -"You can't betray me into vulgar boasting," said Collie. "Who does -in these days? Nobody but clerks at Peter Robinson's." - -"Lord Coombe does--but that's his tiresome superior way," said -Feather. - -"He's nearly forty years older than most of you. That is the -reason," Coombe commented. "Don't deplore your youth and innocence." - -They swept through the rooms and examined everything in them. -The truth was that the--by this time well known--fact that the -unexplainable Coombe had built them made them a curiosity, and -a sort of secret source of jokes. The party even mounted to the -upper story to go through the bedrooms, and, it was while they -were doing this, that Coombe chose to linger behind with Dowson. - -He remained entirely expressionless for a few moments. Dowson did -not in the least gather whether he meant to speak to her or not. -But he did. - -"You meant," he scarcely glanced at her, "that she was old enough -for a governess." - -"Yes, my lord," rather breathless in her hurry to speak before -she heard the high heels tapping on the staircase again. "And one -that's a good woman as well as clever, if I may take the liberty. -A good one if--" - -"If a good one would take the place?" - -Dowson did not attempt refutation or apology. She knew better. - -He said no more, but sauntered out of the room. - -As he did so, Robin stood up and made the little "charity bob" of -a curtsey which had been part of her nursery education. She was -too old now to have refused him her hand, but he never made any -advances to her. He acknowledged her curtsey with the briefest -nod. - -Not three minutes later the high heels came tapping down the -staircase and the small gust of visitors swept away also. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - - - - -The interview which took place between Feather and Lord Coombe a -few days later had its own special character. - -"A governess will come here tomorrow at eleven o'clock," he said. -"She is a Mademoiselle Valle. She is accustomed to the educating -of young children. She will present herself for your approval. -Benby has done all the rest." - -Feather flushed to her fine-spun ash-gold hair. - -"What on earth can it matter!" she cried. - -"It does not matter to you," he answered; "it chances--for the -time being--to matter to ME." - -"Chances!" she flamed forth--it was really a queer little flame of -feeling. "That's it. You don't really care! It's a caprice--just -because you see she is going to be pretty." - -"I'll own," he admitted, "that has a great deal to do with it." - -"It has everything to do with it," she threw out. "If she had a -snub nose and thick legs you wouldn't care for her at all." - -"I don't say that I do care for her," without emotion. "The situation -interests me. Here is an extraordinary little being thrown into -the world. She belongs to nobody. She will have to fight for her -own hand. And she will have to FIGHT, by God! With that dewy lure -in her eyes and her curved pomegranate mouth! She will not know, -but she will draw disaster!" - -"Then she had better not be taught anything at all," said Feather. -"It would be an amusing thing to let her grow up without learning -to read or write at all. I know numbers of men who would like the -novelty of it. Girls who know so much are a bore." - -"There are a few minor chances she ought to have," said Coombe. -"A governess is one. Mademoiselle Valle will be here at eleven." - -"I can't see that she promises to be such a beauty," fretted -Feather. "She's the kind of good looking child who might grow up -into a fat girl with staring black eyes like a barmaid." - -"Occasionally pretty women do abhor their growing up daughters," -commented Coombe letting his eyes rest on her interestedly. - -"I don't abhor her," with pathos touched with venom. "But a big, -lumping girl hanging about ogling and wanting to be ogled when she -is passing through that silly age! And sometimes you speak to me -as a man speaks to his wife when he is tired of her." - -"I beg your pardon," Coombe said. "You make me feel like a person -who lives over a shop at Knightsbridge, or in bijou mansion off -Regent's Park." - -But he was deeply aware that, as an outcome of the anomalous -position he occupied, he not infrequently felt exactly this. - -That a governess chosen by Coombe--though he would seem not to -appear in the matter--would preside over the new rooms, Feather -knew without a shadow of doubt. - -A certain almost silent and always high-bred dominance over her -existence she accepted as the inevitable, even while she fretted -helplessly. Without him, she would be tossed, a broken butterfly, -into the gutter. She knew her London. No one would pick her up -unless to break her into smaller atoms and toss her away again. -The freedom he allowed her after all was wonderful. It was because -he disdained interference. - -But there was a line not to be crossed--there must not even be an -attempt at crossing it. Why he cared about that she did not know. - -"You must be like Caesar's wife," he said rather grimly, after an -interview in which he had given her a certain unsparing warning. - -"And I am nobody's wife. What did Caesar's wife do?" she asked. - -"Nothing." And he told her the story and, when she had heard him -tell it, she understood certain things clearly. - -Mademoiselle Valle was an intelligent, mature Frenchwoman. She -presented herself to Mrs. Gareth-Lawless for inspection and, in -ten minutes, realized that the power to inspect and sum up existed -only on her own side. This pretty woman neither knew what inquiries -to make nor cared for such replies as were given. Being swift to -reason and practical in deduction, Mademoiselle Valle did not make -the blunder of deciding that this light presence argued that she -would be under no supervision more serious. The excellent Benby, -one was made aware, acted and the excellent Benby, one was made -aware, acted under clearly defined orders. Milord Coombe--among -other things the best dressed and perhaps the least comprehended -man in London--was concerned in this, though on what grounds -practical persons could not explain to themselves. His connection -with the narrow house on the right side of the right street -was entirely comprehensible. The lenient felt nothing blatant or -objectionable about it. Mademoiselle Valle herself was not disturbed -by mere rumour. The education, manner and morals of the little -girl she could account for. These alone were to be her affair, and -she was competent to undertake their superintendence. - -Therefore, she sat and listened with respectful intelligence to -the birdlike chatter of Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. (What a pretty woman! -The silhouette of a jeune fille!) - -Mrs. Gareth-Lawless felt that, on her part, she had done all that -was required of her. - -"I'm afraid she's rather a dull child, Mademoiselle," she said in -farewell. "You know children's ways and you'll understand what I -mean. She has a trick of staring and saying nothing. I confess I -wish she wasn't dull." - -"It is impossible, madame, that she should be dull," said -Mademoiselle, with an agreeably implicating smile. "Oh, but quite -impossible! We shall see." - -Not many days had passed before she had seen much. At the outset, -she recognized the effect of the little girl with the slender legs -and feet and the dozen or so of points which go to make a beauty. -The intense eyes first and the deeps of them. They gave one -furiously to think before making up one's mind. Then she noted the -perfection of the rooms added to the smartly inconvenient little -house. Where had the child lived before the addition had been -built? Thought and actual architectural genius only could have done -this. Light and even as much sunshine as London will vouchsafe, -had been arranged for. Comfort, convenience, luxury, had been -provided. Perfect colour and excellent texture had evoked actual -charm. Its utter unlikeness to the quarters London usually gives -to children, even of the fortunate class, struck Mademoiselle Valle -at once. Madame Gareth-Lawless had not done this. Who then, had? - -The good Dowson she at once affiliated with. She knew the excellence -of her type as it had revealed itself to her in the best peasant -class. Trustworthy, simple, but of kindly, shrewd good sense and -with the power to observe. Dowson was not a chatterer or given -to gossip, but, as a silent observer, she would know many things -and, in time, when they had become friendly enough to be fully -aware that each might trust the other, gentle and careful talk -would end in unconscious revelation being made by Dowson. - -That the little girl was almost singularly attached to her -nurse, she had marked early. There was something unusual in her -manifestations of her feeling. The intense eyes followed the woman -often, as if making sure of her presence and reality. The first -day of Mademoiselle's residence in the place she saw the little -thing suddenly stop playing with her doll and look at Dowson -earnestly for several moments. Then she left her seat and went to -the kind creature's side. - -"I want to KISS you, Dowie," she said. - -"To be sure, my lamb," answered Dowson, and, laying down her -mending, she gave her a motherly hug. After which Robin went back -contentedly to her play. - -The Frenchwoman thought it a pretty bit of childish affectionateness. -But it happened more than once during the day, and at night -Mademoiselle commented upon it. - -"She has an affectionate heart, the little one," she remarked. "Madame, -her mother, is so pretty and full of gaieties and pleasures that -I should not have imagined she had much time for caresses and the -nursery." - -Even by this time Dowson had realized that with Mademoiselle she -was upon safe ground and was in no danger of betraying herself -to a gossip. She quietly laid down her sewing and looked at her -companion with grave eyes. - -"Her mother has never kissed her in her life that I am aware of," -she said. - -"Has never--!" Mademoiselle ejaculated. "Never!" - -"Just as you see her, she is, Mademoiselle," Dowson said. "Any -sensible woman would know, when she heard her talk about her -child. I found it all out bit by bit when first I came here. I'm -going to talk plain and have done with it. Her first six years -she spent in a sort of dog kennel on the top floor of this house. -No sun, no real fresh air. Two little holes that were dingy and -gloomy to dull a child's senses. Not a toy or a bit of colour -or a picture, but clothes fine enough for Buckingham Palace -children--and enough for six. Fed and washed and taken out every -day to be shown off. And a bad nurse, Miss--a bad one that kept -her quiet by pinching her black and blue." - -"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! That little angel!" cried Mademoiselle, -covering her eyes. - -Dowson hastily wiped her own eyes. She had shed many a motherly -tear over the child. It was a relief to her to open her heart to -a sympathizer. - -"Black and blue!" she repeated. "And laughing and dancing and all -sorts of fast fun going on in the drawing-rooms." She put out her -hand and touched Mademoiselle's arm quite fiercely. "The little -thing didn't know she HAD a mother! She didn't know what the word -meant. I found that out by her innocent talk. She used to call -HER 'The Lady Downstairs'." - -"Mon Dieu!" cried the Frenchwoman again. "What a woman!" - -"She first heard of mothers from a little boy she met in the Square -Gardens. He was the first child she had been allowed to play with. -He was a nice child and he had a good mother. I only got it bit -by bit when she didn't know how much she was telling me. He told -her about mothers and he kissed her--for the first time in her -life. She didn't understand but it warmed her little heart. She's -never forgotten." - -Mademoiselle even started slightly in her chair. Being a clever -Frenchwoman she felt drama and all its subtle accompaniments. - -"Is that why----" she began. - -"It is," answered Dowson, stoutly. "A kiss isn't an ordinary thing -to her. It means something wonderful. She's got into the way of -loving me, bless her, and every now and then, it's my opinion, -she suddenly remembers her lonely days when she didn't know what -love was. And it just wells up in her little heart and she wants -to kiss me. She always says it that way, 'Dowie, I want to KISS -you,' as if it was something strange and, so to say, sacred. She -doesn't know it means almost nothing to most people. That's why -I always lay down my work and hug her close." - -"You have a good heart--a GOOD one!" said Mademoiselle with strong -feeling. - -Then she put a question: - -"Who was the little boy?" - -"He was a relation of--his lordship's." - -"His lordship's?" cautiously. - -"The Marquis. Lord Coombe." - -There was a few minutes' silence. Both women were thinking of a -number of things and each was asking herself how much it would be -wise to say. - -It was Dowson who made her decision first, and this time, as -before, she laid down her work. What she had to convey was the -thing which, above all others, the Frenchwoman must understand if -she was to be able to use her power to its best effect. - -"A woman in my place hears enough talk," was her beginning. "Servants -are given to it. The Servants' Hall is their theatre. It doesn't -matter whether tales are true or not, so that they're spicy. But -it's been my way to credit just as much as I see and know and to -say little about that. If a woman takes a place in a house, let her -go or stay as suits her best, but don't let her stay and either -complain or gossip. My business here is Miss Robin, and I've found -out for myself that there's just one person that, in a queer, -unfeeling way of his own, has a fancy for looking after her. I -say 'unfeeling' because he never shows any human signs of caring -for the child himself. But if there's a thing that ought to be -done for her and a body can contrive to let him know it's needed, -it'll be done. Downstairs' talk that I've seemed to pay no attention -to has let out that it was him that walked quietly upstairs to -the Nursery, where he'd never set foot before, and opened the door -on Andrews pinching the child. She packed her box and left that -night. He inspected the nurseries and, in a few days, an architect -was planning these rooms,--for Miss Robin and for no one else, -though there was others wanted them. It was him that told me to -order her books and playthings--and not let her know it because -she hates him. It was him I told she needed a governess. And he -found you." - -Mademoiselle Valle had listened with profound attention. Here she -spoke. - -"You say continually 'he' or 'him'. He is--?" - -"Lord Coombe. I'm not saying I've seen much of him. Considering--" -Dowson paused--"it's queer how seldom he comes here. He goes -abroad a good deal. He's mixed up with the highest and it's said -he's in favour because he's satirical and clever. He's one that's -gossiped about and he cares nothing for what's said. What business -of mine is it whether or not he has all sorts of dens on the -Continent where he goes to racket. He might be a bishop for all I -see. And he's the only creature in this world of the Almighty's -that remembers that child's a human being. Just him--Lord Coombe. -There, Mademoiselle,--I've said a good deal." - -More and more interestedly had the Frenchwoman listened and with -an increasing hint of curiosity in her intelligent eyes. She -pressed Dowson's needle-roughened fingers warmly. - -"You have not said too much. It is well that I should know this -of this gentleman. As you say, he is a man who is much discussed. -I myself have heard much of him--but of things connected with -another part of his character. It is true that he is in favour -with great personages. It is because they are aware that he has -observed much for many years. He is light and ironic, but he tells -truths which sometimes startle those who hear them." - -"Jennings tells below stairs that he says things it's queer for a -lord to say. Jennings is a sharp young snip and likes to pick up -things to repeat. He believes that his lordship's idea is that -there's a time coming when the high ones will lose their places -and thrones and kings will be done away with. I wouldn't like to -go that far myself," said Dowson, gravely, "but I must say that -there's not that serious respect paid to Royalty that there was -in my young days. My word! When Queen Victoria was in her prime, -with all her young family around her,--their little Royal Highnesses -that were princes in their Highland kilts and the princesses -in their crinolines and hats with drooping ostrich feathers and -broad satin streamers--the people just went wild when she went to -a place to unveil anything!" - -"When the Empress Eugenie and the Prince Imperial appeared, it was -the same thing," said Mademoiselle, a trifle sadly. "One recalls -it now as a dream passed away--the Champs Elysees in the afternoon -sunlight--the imperial carriage and the glittering escort trotting -gaily--the beautiful woman with the always beautiful costumes--her -charming smile--the Emperor, with his waxed moustache and saturnine -face! It meant so much and it went so quickly. One moment," she made -a little gesture, "and it is gone--forever! An Empire and all the -splendour of it! Two centuries ago it could not have disappeared -so quickly. But now the world is older. It does not need toys -so much. A Republic is the people--and there are more people than -kings." - -"It's things like that his lordship says, according to Jennings," -said Dowson. "Jennings is never quite sure he's in earnest. He -has a satirical way--And the company always laugh." - -Mademoiselle had spoken thoughtfully and as if half to her inner -self instead of to Dowson. She added something even more thoughtfully -now. - -"The same kind of people laughed before the French Revolution," -she murmured. - -"I'm not scholar enough to know much about that--that was a long -time ago, wasn't it?" Dowson remarked. - -"A long time ago," said Mademoiselle. - -Dowson's reply was quite free from tragic reminiscence. - -"Well, I must say, I like a respectable Royal Family myself," she -observed. "There's something solid and comfortable about it--besides -the coronations and weddings and procession with all the pictures -in the Illustrated London News. Give me a nice, well-behaved Royal -Family." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - - - - -"A nice, well-behaved Royal Family." There had been several of them -in Europe for some time. An appreciable number of them had prided -themselves, even a shade ostentatiously, upon their domesticity. -The moral views of a few had been believed to border upon the -high principles inscribed in copy books. Some, however, had not. -A more important power or so had veered from the exact following -of these commendable axioms--had high-handedly behaved according -to their royal will and tastes. But what would you? With a nation -making proper obeisance before one from infancy; with trumpets -blaring forth joyous strains upon one's mere appearance on any -scene; with the proudest necks bowed and the most superb curtseys -swept on one's mere passing by, with all the splendour of the Opera -on gala night rising to its feet to salute one's mere entry into -the royal or imperial box, while the national anthem bursts forth -with adulatory and triumphant strains, only a keen and subtle -sense of humour, surely, could curb errors of judgment arising -from naturally mistaken views of one's own importance and value to -the entire Universe. Still there remained the fact that a number -of them WERE well-behaved and could not be complained of as bearing -any likeness to the bloodthirsty tyrants and oppressors of past -centuries. - -The Head of the House of Coombe had attended the Court Functions -and been received at the palaces and castles of most of them. -For in that aspect of his character of which Mademoiselle Valle -had heard more than Dowson, he was intimate with well-known and -much-observed personages and places. A man born among those whose -daily life builds, as it passes, at least a part of that which -makes history and so records itself, must needs find companions, -acquaintances, enemies, friends of varied character, and if he -be, by chance, a keen observer of passing panoramas, can lack no -material for private reflection and the accumulation of important -facts. - -That part of his existence which connected itself with the slice -of a house on the right side of the Mayfair street was but a -small one. A feature of the untranslatableness of his character -was that he was seen there but seldom. His early habit of crossing -the Channel frequently had gradually reestablished itself as years -passed. Among his acquaintances his "Saturday to Monday visits" to -continental cities remote or unremote were discussed with humour. -Possibly, upon these discussions, were finally founded the rumours -of which Dowson had heard but which she had impartially declined -to "credit". Lively conjecture inevitably figured largely in their -arguments and, when persons of unrestrained wit devote their -attention to airy persiflage, much may be included in their points -of view. - -Of these conjectural discussions no one was more clearly aware -than Coombe himself, and the finished facility--even felicity--of -his evasion of any attempt at delicately valued cross examination -was felt to be inhumanly exasperating. - -In one of the older Squares which still remained stately, through -the splendour of modern fashion had waned in its neighbourhood, -there was among the gloomy, though imposing, houses one in particular -upon whose broad doorsteps--years before the Gareth-Lawlesses had -appeared in London--Lord Coombe stood oftener than upon any other. -At times his brougham waited before it for hours, and, at others, -he appeared on foot and lifted the heavy knocker with a special -accustomed knock recognized at once by any footman in waiting in -the hall, who, hearing it, knew that his mistress--the old Dowager -Duchess of Darte--would receive this visitor, if no other. - -The interior of the house was of the type which, having from the -first been massive and richly sombre, had mellowed into a darker -sombreness and richness as it had stood unmoved amid London years -and fogs. The grandeur of decoration and furnishing had been too -solid to depreciate through decay, and its owner had been of no -fickle mind led to waver in taste by whims of fashion. The rooms -were huge and lofty, the halls and stairways spacious, the fireplaces -furnished with immense grates of glittering steel, which held in -winter beds of scarlet glowing coal, kept scarlet glowing by a -special footman whose being, so to speak, depended on his fidelity -to his task. - -There were many rooms whose doors were kept closed because they -were apparently never used; there were others as little used but -thrown open, warmed and brightened with flowers each day, because -the Duchess chose to catch glimpses of their cheerfulness as she -passed them on her way up or downstairs. The house was her own -property, and, after her widowhood, when it was emptied of her -children by their admirable marriages, and she herself became Dowager -and, later, a confirmed rheumatic invalid, it became doubly her -home and was governed by her slightest whim. She was not indeed -an old woman of caprices, but her tastes, not being those of the -later day in which she now lived, were regarded as a shade eccentric -being firmly defined. - -"I will not have my house glaring with electricity as if it were -a shop. In my own rooms I will be lighted by wax candles. Large -ones--as many as you please," she said. "I will not be 'rung up' -by telephone. My servants may if they like. It is not my affair -to deprive them of the modern inconveniences, if they find them -convenient. My senility does not take the form of insisting that -the world shall cease to revolve upon its axis. It formed that -habit without my assistance, and it is to be feared that it would -continue it in the face of my protests." - -It was, in fact, solely that portion of the world affecting herself -alone which she preferred to retain as it had been in the brilliant -early years of her life. She had been a great beauty and also -a wit in the Court over which Queen Victoria had reigned. She had -possessed the delicate high nose, the soft full eyes, the "polished -forehead," the sloping white shoulders from which scarves floated -or India shawls gracefully drooped in the Books of Beauty of the -day. Her carriage had been noble, her bloom perfect, and, when -she had driven through the streets "in attendance" on her Royal -Mistress, the populace had always chosen her as "the pick of -'em all". Young as she had then been, elderly statesmen had found -her worth talking to, not as a mere beauty in her teens, but as a -creature of singular brilliance and clarity of outlook upon a world -which might have dazzled her youth. The most renowned among them -had said of her, before she was twenty, that she would live to be -one of the cleverest women in Europe, and that she had already the -logical outlook of a just man of fifty. - -She married early and was widowed in middle life. In her later -years rheumatic fever so far disabled her as to confine her to her -chair almost entirely. Her sons and daughter had homes and families -of their own to engage them. She would not allow them to sacrifice -themselves to her because her life had altered its aspect. - -"I have money, friends, good servants and a house I particularly -like," she summed the matter up; "I may be condemned to sit by -the fire, but I am not condemned to be a bore to my inoffensive -family. I can still talk and read, and I shall train myself to -become a professional listener. This will attract. I shall not -only read myself, but I will be read to. A strong young man with -a nice voice shall bring magazines and books to me every day, and -shall read the best things aloud. Delightful people will drop in -to see me and will be amazed by my fund of information." - -It was during the first years of her enforced seclusion that -Coombe's intimacy with her began. He had known her during certain -black days of his youth, and she had comprehended things he did not -tell her. She had not spoken of them to him but she had silently -given him of something which vaguely drew him to her side when -darkness seemed to overwhelm him. The occupations of her life -left her in those earlier days little leisure for close intimacies, -but, when she began to sit by her fire letting the busy world pass -by, he gradually became one of those who "dropped in". - -In one of the huge rooms she had chosen for her own daily use, -by the well-tended fire in its shining grate, she had created -an agreeable corner where she sat in a chair marvellous for ease -and comfort, enclosed from draughts by a fire screen of antique -Chinese lacquer, a table by her side and all she required within -her reach. Upon the table stood a silver bell and, at its sound, -her companion, her reader, her maid or her personally trained -footman, came and went quietly and promptly as if summoned by -magic. Her life itself was simple, but a certain almost royal -dignity surrounded her loneliness. Her companion, Miss Brent, an -intelligent, mature woman who had known a hard and pinched life, -found at once comfort and savour in it. - -"It is not I who am expensive,"--this in one of her talks with -Coombe, "but to live in a house of this size, well kept by excellent -servants who are satisfied with their lot, is not a frugal thing. -A cap of tea for those of my friends who run in to warm themselves -by my fire in the afternoon; a dinner or so when I am well enough -to sit at the head of my table, represent almost all I now do for -the world. Naturally, I must see that my tea is good and that my -dinners cannot be objected to. Nevertheless, I sit here in my chair -and save money--for what?" - -Among those who "warmed themselves by her fire" this man had -singularly become her friend and intimate. When they had time -to explore each other's minds, they came upon curious discoveries -of hidden sympathies and mutual comprehensions which were rich -treasures. They talked of absorbing things with frankness. He came -to sit with her when others were not admitted because she was in -pain or fatigued. He added to neither her fatigue nor her pain, -but rather helped her to forget them. - -"For what?" he answered on this day. "Why not for your grandchildren?" - -"They will have too much money. There are only four of them. They -will make great marriages as their parents did," she said. She -paused a second before she added, "Unless our World Revolution has -broken into flame by that time--And there are no longer any great -marriages to make." - -For among the many things they dwelt on in their talks along, was -the Chessboard, which was the Map of Europe, over which he had -watched for many years certain hands hover in tentative experimenting -as to the possibilities of the removal of the pieces from one -square to another. She, too, from her youth had watched the game -with an interest which had not waned in her maturity, and which, -in her days of sitting by the fire, had increased with every move -the hovering hands made. She had been familiar with political -parties and their leaders, she had met heroes and statesmen; she -had seen an unimportant prince become an emperor, who, from his -green and boastful youth, aspired to rule the world and whose -theatrical obsession had been the sly jest of unwary nations, too -carelessly sure of the advance of civilization and too indifferently -self-indulgent to realize that a monomaniac, even if treated as a -source of humour, is a perilous thing to leave unwatched. She had -known France in all the glitter of its showy Empire, and had seen -its imperial glories dispersed as mist. Russia she had watched with -curiosity and dread. On the day when the ruler, who had bestowed -freedom on millions of his people, met his reward in the shattering -bomb which tore him to fragments, she had been in St. Petersburg. A -king, who had been assassinated, she had known well and had well -liked; an empress, whom a frenzied madman had stabbed to the heart, -had been her friend. - -Her years had been richly full of varied events, giving a strong -and far-seeing mind reason for much unspoken thought of the kind -which leaps in advance of its day's experience and exact knowledge. -She had learned when to speak and when to be silent, and she oftener -chose silence. But she had never ceased gazing on the world with -keen eyes, and reflecting upon its virtues and vagaries, its depths -and its shallows, with the help of a clear and temperate brain. - -By her fire she sat, an attracting presence, though only fine, -strong lines remained of beauty ravaged by illness and years. The -"polished forehead" was furrowed by the chisel of suffering; the -delicate high nose springing from her waxen, sunken face seemed -somewhat eaglelike, but the face was still brilliant in its intensity -of meaning and the carriage of her head was still noble. Not able -to walk except with the assistance of a cane, her once exquisite -hands stiffened almost to uselessness, she held her court from -her throne of mere power and strong charm. On the afternoons when -people "ran in to warm themselves" by her fire, the talk was never -dull and was often wonderful. There were those who came quietly -into the room fresh from important scenes where subjects of weight -to nations were being argued closely--perhaps almost fiercely. -Sometimes the argument was continued over cups of perfect tea near -the chair of the Duchess, and, howsoever far it led, she was able -brilliantly to follow. With the aid of books and pamphlets and -magazines, and the strong young man with the nice voice, who was -her reader, she kept pace with each step of the march of the world. - -It was, however, the modern note in her recollections of her world's -march in days long past, in which Coombe found mental food and fine -flavour. The phrase, "in these days" expressed in her utterance neither -disparagement nor regret. She who sat in state in a drawing-room -lighted by wax candles did so as an affair of personal preference, -and denied no claim of higher brilliance to electric illumination. -Driving slowly through Hyde Park on sunny days when she was able -to go out, her high-swung barouche hinted at no lofty disdain of -petrol and motor power. At the close of her youth's century, she -looked forward with thrilled curiosity to the dawning wonders of -the next. - -"If the past had not held so much, one might not have learned -to expect more," was her summing up on a certain afternoon, when -he came to report himself after one of his absences from England. -"The most important discovery of the last fifty years has been the -revelation that no man may any longer assume to speak the last -word on any subject. The next man--almost any next man--may evolve -more. Before that period all elderly persons were final in their -dictum. They said to each other--and particularly to the young--'It -has not been done in my time--it was not done in my grandfather's -time. It has never been done. It never can be done'." - -"The note of today is 'Since it has never been done, it will surely -be done soon'," said Coombe. - -"Ah! we who began life in the most assured and respectable of -reigns and centuries," she answered him, "have seen much. But these -others will see more. Crinolines, mushroom hats and large families -seemed to promise a decorum peaceful to dullness; but there have -been battles, murders and sudden deaths; there have been almost -supernatural inventions and discoveries--there have been marvels -of new doubts and faiths. When one sits and counts upon one's -fingers the amazements the 19th century has provided, one gasps -and gazes with wide eyes into the future. I, for one, feel rather -as though I had seen a calm milch cow sauntering--at first -slowly--along a path, gradually evolve into a tiger--a genie with -a hundred heads containing all the marvels of the world--a flying -dragon with a thousand eyes! Oh, we have gone fast and far!" - -"And we shall go faster and farther," Coombe added. - -"That is it," she answered. "Are we going too fast?" - -"At least so fast that we forget things it would be well for us -to remember." He had come in that day with a certain preoccupied -grimness of expression which was not unknown to her. It was generally -after one of his absences that he looked a shade grim. - -"Such as--?" she inquired. - -"Such as catastrophes in the history of the world, which forethought -and wisdom might have prevented. The French Revolution is the obvious -type of figure which lies close at hand so one picks it up. The -French Revolution--its Reign of Terror--the orgies of carnage--the -cataclysms of agony--need not have been, but they WERE. To put it -in words of one syllable." - -"What!" was her involuntary exclamation. "You are seeking such -similes as the French Revolution!" - -"Who knows how far a madness may reach and what Reign of Terror may -take form?" He sat down and drew an atlas towards him. It always lay -upon the table on which all the Duchess desired was within reach. -It was fat, convenient of form, and agreeable to look at in its -cover of dull, green leather. Coombe's gesture of drawing it towards -him was a familiar one. It was frequently used as reference. - -"The atlas again?" she said. - -"Yes. Just now I can think of little else. I have realized too -much." - -The continental journey had lasted a month. He had visited more -countries than one in his pursuit of a study he was making of -the way in which the wind was blowing particular straws. For long -he had found much to give thought to in the trend of movement in -one special portion of the Chessboard. It was that portion of it -dominated by the ruler of whose obsession too careless nations made -sly jest. This man he had known from his arrogant and unendearing -youth. He had looked on with unbiassed curiosity at his development -into arrogance so much greater than its proportions touched the -grotesque. The rest of the world had looked on also, but apparently, -merely in the casual way which good-naturedly smiles and leaves to -every man--even an emperor--the privilege of his own eccentricities. -Coombe had looked on with a difference, so also had his friend by -her fireside. This man's square of the Chessboard had long been -the subject of their private talks and a cause for the drawing -towards them of the green atlas. The moves he made, the methods -of his ruling, the significance of these methods were the evidence -they collected in their frequent arguments. Coombe had early begun -to see the whole thing as a process--a life-long labour which was -a means to a monstrous end. - -There was a certain thing he believed of which they often spoke -as "It". He spoke of it now. - -"Through three weeks I have been marking how It grows," he said; "a -whole nation with the entire power of its commerce, its education, -its science, its religion, guided towards one aim is a curious -study. The very babes are born and bred and taught only that -one thought may become an integral part of their being. The most -innocent and blue eyed of them knows, without a shadow of doubt, -that the world has but one reason for existence--that it may be -conquered and ravaged by the country that gave them birth." - -"I have both heard and seen it," she said. "One has smiled in -spite of oneself, in listening to their simple, everyday talk." - -"In little schools--in large ones--in little churches, and in -imposing ones, their Faith is taught and preached," Coombe -answered. "Sometimes one cannot believe one's hearing. It is all -so ingenuously and frankly unashamed--the mouthing, boasting, and -threats of their piety. There exists for them no God who is not -the modest henchman of their emperor, and whose attention is not -rivetted on their prowess with admiration and awe. Apparently, -they are His business, and He is well paid by being allowed to -retain their confidence." - -"A lack of any sense of humour is a disastrous thing," commented -the Duchess. "The people of other nations may be fools--doubtless -we all are--but there is no other which proclaims the fact abroad -with such guileless outbursts of raucous exultation." - -"And even we--you and I who have thought more than others" he -said, restlessly, "even we forget and half smile. There been too -much smiling." - -She picked up an illustrated paper and opened it at a page filled -by an ornate picture. - -"See!" she said. "It is because he himself has made it so easy, -with his amazing portraits of his big boots, and swords, and -eruption of dangling orders. How can one help but smile when -one finds him glaring at one from a newspaper in his superwarlike -attitude, defying the Universe, with his comic moustachios and their -ferocious waxed and bristling ends. No! One can scarcely believe -that a man can be stupid enough not to realize that he looks -as if he had deliberately made himself up to represent a sort of -terrific military bogey intimating that, at he may pounce and say -'Boo?" - -"There lies the peril. His pretensions seem too grotesque to be -treated seriously. And, while he should be watched as a madman is -watched, he is given a lifetime to we attack on a world that has -ceased to believe in the sole thing which is real to himself." - -"You are fresh from observation." There was new alertness in her -eyes, though she had listened before. - -"I tell you it GROWS!" he gave back and lightly struck the table -in emphasis. "Do you remember Carlyle--?" - -"The French Revolution again?" - -"Yes. Do you recall this? 'Do not fires, fevers, seeds, chemical -mixtures, GO ON GROWING. Observe, too, that EACH GROWS with a -rapidity proportioned to the madness and unhealthiness there is in -it.' A ruler who, in an unaggressive age such as this, can concentrate -his life and his people's on the one ambition of plunging the -world in an ocean of blood, in which his own monomania can bathe -in triumph--Good God! there is madness and unhealthiness to flourish -in!" - -"The world!" she said. "Yes--it will be the world." - -"See," he said, with a curve of the finger which included most of -the Map of Europe. "Here are countries engaged--like the Bandarlog--in -their own affairs. Quarrelling, snatching things from each other, -blustering or amusing themselves with transitory pomps and displays -of power. Here is a huge empire whose immense, half-savage population -has seethed for centuries in its hidden, boiling cauldron of -rebellion. Oh! it has seethed! And only cruelties have repressed -it. Now and then it has boiled over in assassination in high places, -and one has wondered how long its autocratic splendour could hold -its own. Here are small, fierce, helpless nations overrun and -outraged into a chronic state of secret ever-ready hatred. Here -are innocent, small countries, defenceless through their position -and size. Here is France rich, careless, super-modern and cynic. -Here is England comfortable to stolidity, prosperous and secure to -dullness in her own half belief in a world civilization, which -no longer argues in terms of blood and steel. And here--in a -well-entrenched position in the midst of it all--within but a few -hundreds of miles of weakness, complicity, disastrous unreadiness -and panic-stricken uncertainty of purpose, sits this Man of One -Dream--who believes God Himself his vassal. Here he sits." - -"Yes his One Dream. He has had no other." The Duchess was poring -over the map also. They were as people pondering over a strange -and terrible game. - -"It is his monomania. It possessed him when he was a boy. What -Napoleon hoped to accomplish he has BELIEVED he could attain by -concentrating all the power of people upon preparation for it--and -by not flinching from pouring forth their blood as if it were the -refuse water of his gutters." - -"Yes--the blood--the blood!" the Duchess shuddered. "He would pour -it forth without a qualm." - -Coombe touched the map first at one point and then at another. - -"See!" he said again, and this time savagely. "This empire flattered -and entangled by cunning, this country irritated, this deceived, -this drawn into argument, this and this and this treated with -professed friendship, these tricked and juggled with--And then, when -his plans are ripe and he is made drunk with belief in himself--just -one sodden insult or monstrous breach of faith, which all humanity -must leap to resent--And there is our World Revolution." - -The Duchess sat upright in her chair. - -"Why did you let your youth pass?" she said. "If you had begun -early enough, you could hare made the country listen to you. Why -did you do it?" - -"For the same reason that all selfish grief and pleasure and -indifference let the world go by. And I am not sure they would have -listened. I speak freely enough now in some quarters. They listen, -but they do nothing. There is a warning in the fact that, as he -has seen his youth leave him without giving him his opportunity, -he has been a disappointed man inflamed and made desperate. At the -outset, he felt that he must provide the world with some fiction -of excuse. As his obsession and arrogance have swollen, he sees -himself and his ambition as reason enough. No excuse is needed. -Deutschland uber alles--is sufficient." - -He pushed the map away and his fire died down. He spoke almost in -his usual manner. - -"The conquest of the world," he said. "He is a great fool. What -would he DO with his continents if he got them?" - -"What, indeed," pondered her grace. "Continents--even kingdoms are -not like kittens in a basket, or puppies to be trained to come to -heel." - -"It is part of his monomania that he can persuade himself that -they are little more." Coombe's eye-glasses had been slowly swaying -from the ribbon in his fingers. He let them continue to sway a -moment and then closed them with a snap. - -"He is a great fool," he said. "But we,--oh, my friend--and by 'we' -I mean the rest of the Map of Europe--we are much greater fools. -A mad dog loose among us and we sit--and smile." - -And this was in the days before the house with the cream-coloured -front had put forth its first geraniums and lobelias in Feather's -window boxes. Robin was not born. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - - - - -In the added suite of rooms at the back of the house, Robin grew -through the years in which It was growing also. On the occasion -when her mother saw her, she realized that she was not at least -going to look like a barmaid. At no period of her least refulgent -moment did she verge upon this type. Dowie took care of her and -Mademoiselle Valle educated her with the assistance of certain -masters who came to give lessons in German and Italian. - -"Why only German and Italian and French," said Feather, "why not -Latin and Greek, as well, if she is to be so accomplished?" - -"It is modern languages one needs at this period. They ought -to be taught in the Board Schools," Coombe replied. "They are -not accomplishments but workman's tools. Nationalities are not -separated as they once were. To be familiar with the language of -one's friends--and one's enemies--is a protective measure." - -"What country need one protect oneself against? When all the -kings and queens are either married to each other's daughters or -cousins or take tea with each other every year or so. Just think -of the friendliness of Germany for instance----" - -"I do," said Coombe, "very often. That is one of the reasons I -choose German rather than Latin and Greek. Julius Caesar and Nero -are no longer reasons for alarm." - -"Is the Kaiser with his seventeen children and his respectable -Frau?" giggled Feather. "All that he cares about is that women -shall be made to remember that they are born for nothing but to -cook and go to church and have babies. One doesn't wonder at the -clothes they wear." - -It was not a month after this, however, when Lord Coombe, again -warming himself at his old friend's fire, gave her a piece of -information. - -"The German teacher, Herr Wiese, has hastily returned to his own -country," he said. - -She lifted her eyebrows inquiringly. - -"He found himself suspected of being a spy," was his answer. "With -most excellent reason. Some first-rate sketches of fortifications -were found in a box he left behind him in his haste. The country--all -countries--are sown with those like him. Mild spectacled students -and clerks in warehouses and manufactories are weighing and -measuring resources; round-faced, middle-aged governesses are -making notes of conversation and of any other thing which may be -useful. In time of war--if they were caught at what are now their -simple daily occupations--they would be placed against a wall and -shot. As it is, they are allowed to play about among us and slip -away when some fellow worker's hint suggests it is time." - -"German young men are much given to spending a year or so here -in business positions," the Duchess wore a thoughtful air. "That -has been going on for a decade or so. One recognizes their Teuton -type in shops and in the streets. They say they come to learn the -language and commercial methods." - -"Not long ago a pompous person, who is the owner of a big shop, -pointed out to me three of them among his salesmen," Coombe said. -"He plumed himself on his astuteness in employing them. Said they -worked for low wages and cared for very little else but finding -out how things were done in England. It wasn't only business -knowledge they were after, he said; they went about everywhere--into -factories and dock yards, and public buildings, and made funny -little notes and sketches of things they didn't understand--so -that they could explain them in Germany. In his fatuous, insular -way, it pleased him to regard them rather as a species of aborigines -benefiting by English civilization. The English Ass and the -German Ass are touchingly alike. The shade of difference is that -the English Ass's sublime self-satisfaction is in the German Ass -self-glorification. The English Ass smirks and plumes himself; -the German Ass blusters and bullies and defies." - -"Do you think of engaging another German Master for the little -girl?" the Duchess asked the question casually. - -"I have heard of a quiet young woman who has shown herself thorough -and well-behaved in a certain family for three years. Perhaps -she also will disappear some day, but, for the present, she will -serve the purpose." - -As he had not put into words to others any explanation of the -story of the small, smart establishment in the Mayfair street, so -he had put into words no explanation to her. That she was aware -of its existence he knew, but what she thought of it, or imagined -he himself thought of it, he had not at any period inquired. -Whatsoever her point of view might be, he knew it would be unbiassed, -clear minded and wholly just. She had asked no question and made -no comment. The rapid, whirligig existence of the well-known -fashionable groups, including in their circles varieties of the -Mrs. Gareth-Lawless type, were to be seen at smart functions and -to be read of in newspapers and fashion reports, if one's taste -lay in the direction of a desire to follow their movements. The -time had passed when pretty women of her kind were cut off by -severities of opinion from the delights of a world they had thrown -their dice daringly to gain. The worldly old axiom, "Be virtuous -and you will be happy," had been ironically paraphrased too often. -"Please yourself and you will be much happier than if you were -virtuous," was a practical reading. - -But for a certain secret which she alone knew and which no one -would in the least have believed, if she had proclaimed it from -the housetops, Feather would really have been entirely happy. -And, after all, the fly in her ointment was merely an odd sting -a fantastic Fate had inflicted on her vanity and did not in any -degree affect her pleasures. So many people lived in glass houses -that the habit of throwing stones had fallen out of fashion as an -exercise. There were those, too, whose houses of glass, adroitly -given the air of being respectable conservatories, engendered in -the dwellers therein a leniency towards other vitreous constructions. -As a result of this last circumstance, there were times when -quite stately equipages drew up before Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' door -and visiting cards bearing the names of acquaintances much to be -desired were left upon the salver presented by Jennings. Again, -as a result of this circumstance, Feather employed some laudable -effort in her desire to give her own glass house the conservatory -aspect. 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. Her first interpretation of this had been that of a mere baby, -but it had filled her being with detestation of him, and curious -doubts of her mother. Donal's mother, who was good and beautiful, -would not let him come to see her and kept Donal away from him. -If the Lady Downstairs was good, too, then why did laugh and -talk to him and seem to like him? She had thought this over for -hours--sometimes wakening in the night to lie and puzzle over -it feverishly. Then, as time went by, she had begun to remember -that she had never played with any of the children in the Square -Gardens. It had seemed as though this had been because Andrews -would not let her. But, if she was not fit to play with Donal, -perhaps the nurses and governesses and mothers of the other children -knew about it and would not trust their little girls and boys to -her damaging society. She did not know what she could have done -to harm them--and Oh! how COULD she have harmed Donal!--but there -must be something dreadful about a child whose mother knew bad -people--something which other children could "catch" like scarlet -fever. From this seed other thoughts had grown. She did not remain -a baby long. A fervid little brain worked for her, picked up hints -and developed suggestions, set her to singularly alert reasoning -which quickly became too mature for her age. The quite horrid little -girl, who flouncingly announced that she could not be played with -any more "because of Lord Coombe" set a spark to a train. After -that time she used to ask occasional carefully considered questions -of Dowson and Mademoiselle Valle, which puzzled them by their -vagueness. The two women were mutually troubled by a moody habit -she developed of sitting absorbed in her own thoughts, and with -a concentrated little frown drawing her brows together. They did -not know that she was silently planning a subtle cross examination -of them both, whose form would be such that neither of them could -suspect it of being anything but innocent. She felt that she was -growing cunning and deceitful, but she did not care very much. -She possessed a clever and determined, though very young brain. -She loved both Dowson and Mademoiselle, but she must find out -about things for herself, and she was not going to harm or trouble -them. They would never know she had found out: Whatsoever she -discovered, she would keep to herself. - -But one does not remain a baby long, and one is a little girl -only a few years, and, even during the few years, one is growing -and hearing and seeing all the time. After that, one is beginning -to be a rather big girl and one has seen books and newspapers, and -overheard scraps of things from servants. If one is brought up -in a convent and allowed to read nothing but literature selected -by nuns, a degree of aloofness from knowledge may be counted -upon--though even convent schools, it is said, encounter their -difficulties in perfect discipline. - -Robin, in her small "Palace" was well taken care of but her library -was not selected by nuns. It was chosen with thought, but it was -the library of modern youth. Mademoiselle Valle's theories of a -girl's education were not founded on a belief that, until marriage, -she should be led about by a string blindfolded, and with ears -stopped with wax. - -"That results in a bleating lamb's being turned out of its fold to -make its way through a jungle full of wild creatures and pitfalls -it has never heard of," she said in discussing the point with Dowson. -She had learned that Lord Coombe agreed with her. He, as well as -she, chose the books and his taste was admirable. Its inclusion -of an unobtrusive care for girlhood did not preclude the exercise -of the intellect. An early developed passion for reading led the -child far and wide. Fiction, history, poetry, biography, opened -up vistas to a naturally quick and eager mind. Mademoiselle found -her a clever pupil and an affection-inspiring little being even -from the first. - -She always felt, however, that in the depths of her something held -itself hidden--something she did not speak of. It was some thought -which perhaps bewildered her, but which something prevented her -making clear to herself by the asking of questions. Mademoiselle -Valle finally became convinced that she never would ask the -questions. - -Arrived a day when Feather swept into the Palace with some -visitors. They were two fair and handsome little girls of thirteen -and fourteen, whose mother, having taken them shopping, found it -would suit her extremely well to drop then somewhere for an hour -while she went to her dressmaker. Feather was quite willing that -they should be left with Robin and Mademoiselle until their own -governess called for them. - -"Here are Eileen and Winifred Erwyn, Robin," she said, bringing -them in. "Talk to them and show them your books and things until -the governess comes. Dowson, give them some cakes and tea." - -Mrs. Erwyn was one of the most treasured of Feather's circle. Her -little girls' governess was a young Frenchwoman, entirely unlike -Mademoiselle Valle. Eileen and Winifred saw Life from their -schoolroom windows as an open book. Why not, since their governess -and their mother's French maid conversed freely, and had rather -penetrating voices even when they were under the impression that -they lowered them out of deference to blameless youth. Eileen and -Winifred liked to remain awake to listen as long as they could -after they went to bed. They themselves had large curious eyes -and were given to whispering and giggling. - -They talked a good deal to Robin and assumed fashionable little -grown up airs. They felt themselves mature creatures as compared -to her, since she was not yet thirteen. They were so familiar -with personages and functions that Robin felt that they must have -committed to memory every morning the column in the Daily Telegraph -known as "London Day by Day." She sometimes read it herself, -because it was amusing to her to read about parties and weddings -and engagements. But it did not seem easy to remember. Winifred -and Eileen were delighted to display themselves in the character -of instructresses. They entertained Robin for a short time, but, -after that, she began to dislike the shared giggles which so often -broke out after their introduction of a name or an incident. It -seemed to hint that they were full of amusing information which -they held back. Then they were curious and made remarks and asked -questions. She began to think them rather horrid. - -"We saw Lord Coombe yesterday," said Winifred at last, and the -unnecessary giggle followed. - -"We think he wears the most beautiful clothes we ever saw! You -remember his overcoat, Winnie?" said Eileen. "He MATCHES so--and -yet you don't know exactly how he matches," and she giggled also. - -"He is the best dressed man in London," Winifred stated quite -grandly. "I think he is handsome. So do Mademoiselle and Florine." - -Robin said nothing at all. What Dowson privately called "her -secret look" made her face very still. Winifred saw the look and, -not understanding it or her, became curious. - -"Don't you?" she said. - -"No," Robin answered. "He has a wicked face. And he's old, too." - -"You think he's old because you're only about twelve," inserted -Eileen. "Children think everybody who is grown-up must be old. -I used to. But now people don't talk and think about age as they -used to. Mademoiselle says that when a man has distinction he is -always young--and nicer than boys." - -Winifred, who was persistent, broke in. - -"As to his looking wicked, I daresay he IS wicked in a sort of -interesting way. Of course, people say all sorts of things about -him. When he was quite young, he was in love with a beautiful -little royal Princess--or she was in love with him--and her husband -either killed her or she died of a broken heart--I don't know -which." - -Mademoiselle Valle had left them for a short time feeling that -they were safe with their tea and cakes and would feel more at ease -relieved of her presence. She was not long absent, but Eileen and -Winifred, being avid of gossip and generally eliminated subjects, -"got in their work" with quite fevered haste. They liked the idea -of astonishing Robin. - -Eileen bent forward and lowered her voice. - -"They do say that once Captain Thorpe was fearfully jealous of -him and people wonder that he wasn't among the co-respondents." -The word "co-respondent" filled her with self-gratulation even -though she only whispered it. - -"Co-respondents?" said Robin. - -They both began to whisper at once--quite shrilly in their haste. -They knew Mademoiselle might return at any moment. - -"The great divorce case, you know! The Thorpe divorce case the -papers are so full of. We get the under housemaid to bring it to -us after Mademoiselle has done with it. It's so exciting! Haven't -you been reading it? Oh!" - -"No, I haven't," answered Robin. "And I don't know about co-respondents, -but, if they are anything horrid, I daresay he WAS one of them." - -And at that instant Mademoiselle returned and Dowson brought -in fresh cakes. The governess, who was to call for her charges, -presented herself not long afterwards and the two enterprising -little persons were taken away. - -"I believe she's JEALOUS of Lord Coombe," Eileen whispered to -Winifred, after they reached home. - -"So do I," said Winifred wisely. "She can't help but know how he -ADORES Mrs. Gareth-Lawless because she's so lovely. He pays for -all her pretty clothes. It's silly of her to be jealous--like a -baby." - -Robin sometimes read newspapers, though she liked books better. -Newspapers were not forbidden her. She been reading an enthralling -book and had not seen a paper for some days. She at once searched for -one and, finding it, sat down and found also the Thorpe Divorce -Case. It was not difficult of discovery, as it filled the principal -pages with dramatic evidence and amazing revelations. - -Dowson saw her bending over the spread sheets, hot-eyed and intense -in her concentration. - -"What are you reading, my love?" she asked. - -The little flaming face lifted itself. It was unhappy, obstinate, -resenting. It wore no accustomed child look and Dowson felt rather -startled. - -"I'm reading the Thorpe Divorce Case, Dowie," she answered -deliberately and distinctly. - -Dowie came close to her. - -"It's an ugly thing to read, my lamb," she faltered. "Don't you -read it. Such things oughtn't to be allowed in newspapers. And -you're a little girl, my own dear." Robin's elbow rested firmly -on the table and her chin firmly in her hand. Her eyes were not -like a bird's. - -"I'm nearly thirteen," she said. "I'm growing up. Nobody can stop -themselves when they begin to grow up. It makes them begin to find -out things. I want to ask you something, Dowie." - -"Now, lovey--!" Dowie began with tremor. Both she and Mademoiselle -had been watching the innocent "growing up" and fearing a time -would come when the widening gaze would see too much. Had it come -as soon as this? - -Robin suddenly caught the kind woman's wrists in her hands and -held them while she fixed her eyes on her. The childish passion -of dread and shyness in them broke Dowson's heart because it was -so ignorant and young. - -"I'm growing up. There's something--I MUST know something! I never -knew how to ask about it before." It was so plain to Dowson that -she did not know how to ask about it now. "Someone said that Lord -Coombe might have been a co-respondent in the Thorpe case----" - -"These wicked children!" gasped Dowie. "They're not children at -all!" - -"Everybody's horrid but you and Mademoiselle," cried Robin, brokenly. -She held the wrists harder and ended in a sort of outburst. "If -my father were alive--could he bring a divorce suit----And would -Lord Coombe----" - -Dowson burst into open tears. And then, so did Robin. She dropped -Dowson's wrists and threw her arms around her waist, clinging to -it in piteous repentance. - -"No, I won't!" she cried out. "I oughtn't to try to make you tell -me. You can't. I'm wicked to you. Poor Dowie--darling Dowie! I -want to KISS you, Dowie! Let me--let me!" - -She sobbed childishly on the comfortable breast and Dowie hugged -her close and murmured in a choked voice, - -"My lamb! My pet lamb!" - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - - - - -Mademoiselle Valle and Dowson together realized that after this -the growing up process was more rapid. It always seems incredibly -rapid to lookers on, after thirteen. But these two watchers felt -that, in Robin's case, it seemed unusually so. Robin had always -been interested in her studies and clever at them, but, suddenly, -she developed a new concentration and it was of an order which her -governess felt denoted the secret holding of some object in view. -She devoted herself to her lessons with a quality of determination -which was new. She had previously been absorbed, but not determined. -She made amazing strides and seemed to aspire to a thoroughness -and perfection girls did not commonly aim at--especially at the -frequently rather preoccupied hour of blossoming. Mademoiselle -encountered in her an eagerness that she--who knew girls--would -have felt it optimistic to expect in most cases. She wanted to -work over hours; she would have read too much if she had not been -watched and gently coerced. - -She was not distracted by the society of young people of her own age. -She, indeed, showed a definite desire to avoid such companionship. -What she said to Mademoiselle Valle one afternoon during a long walk -they took together, held its own revelation for the older woman. - -They had come upon the two Erwyns walking with their attendant -in Kensington Gardens, and, seeing them at some distance, Robin -asked her companion to turn into another walk. - -"I don't want to meet them," she said, hurriedly. "I don't think I -like girls. Perhaps it's horrid of me--but I don't. I don't like -those two." A few minutes later, after they had walked in an opposite -direction, she said thoughtfully. - -"Perhaps the kind of girls I should like to know would not like to -know me." - -From the earliest days of her knowledge of Lord Coombe, Mademoiselle -Valle had seen that she had no cause to fear lack of comprehension -on his part. With a perfection of method, they searched each other's -intelligence. It had become understood that on such occasions as -there was anything she wished to communicate or inquire concerning, -Mr. Benby, in his private room, was at Mademoiselle's service, and -there his lordship could also be met personally by appointment. - -"There have been no explanations," Mademoiselle Valle said to -Dowson. "He does not ask to know why I turn to him and I do not -ask to know why he cares about this particular child. It is taken -for granted that is his affair and not mine. I am paid well to -take care of Robin, and he knows that all I say and do is part of -my taking care of her." - -After the visit of the Erwyn children, she had a brief interview -with Coombe, in which she made for him a clear sketch. It was a -sketch of unpleasant little minds, avid and curious on somewhat -exotic subjects, little minds, awake to rather common claptrap -and gossipy pinchbeck interests. - -"Yes--unpleasant, luckless, little persons. I quite understand. -They never appeared before. They will not appear again. Thank you, -Mademoiselle," he said. - -The little girls did not appear again; neither did any others of -their type, and the fact that Feather knew little of other types -was a sufficient reason for Robin's growing up without companions -of her own age. - -"She's a lonely child, after all," Mademoiselle said. - -"She always was," answered Dowie. "But she's fond of us, bless -her heart, and it isn't loneliness like it was before we came." - -"She is not unhappy. She is too blooming and full of life," -Mademoiselle reflected. "We adore her and she has many interests. -It is only that she does not know the companionship most young -people enjoy. Perhaps, as she has never known it, she does not -miss it." - -The truth was that if the absence of intercourse with youth -produced its subtle effect on her, she was not aware of any lack, -and a certain uncompanioned habit of mind, which gave her much -time for dreams and thought, was accepted by her as a natural -condition as simply as her babyhood had accepted the limitations -of the Day and Night Nurseries. - -She was not a self-conscious creature, but the time came when she -became rather disturbed by the fact that people looked at her very -often, as she walked in the streets. Sometimes they turned their -heads to look after her; occasionally one person walking with -another would say something quietly to his or her companion, and -they even paused a moment to turn quite round and look. The first -few times she noticed this she flushed prettily and said nothing -to Mademoiselle Valle who was generally with her. But, after her -attention had been attracted by the same thing on several different -days, she said uneasily: - -"Am I quite tidy, Mademoiselle?" - -"Quite," Mademoiselle answered--just a shade uneasy herself. - -"I began to think that perhaps something had come undone or my -hat was crooked," she explained. "Those two women stared so. Then -two men in a hansom leaned forward and one said something to the -other, and they both laughed a little, Mademoiselle!" hurriedly, -"Now, there are three young men!" quite indignantly. "Don't let -them see you notice them--but I think it RUDE!" - -They were carelessly joyous and not strictly well-bred youths, -who were taking a holiday together, and their rudeness was quite -unintentional and without guile. They merely stared and obviously -muttered comments to each other as they passed, each giving -the hasty, unconscious touch to his young moustache, which is the -automatic sign of pleasurable observation in the human male. - -"If she had had companions of her own age she would have known -all about it long ago," Mademoiselle was thinking. - -Her intelligent view of such circumstances was that the simple -fact they arose from could--with perfect taste--only be treated -simply. It was a mere fact; therefore, why be prudish and affected -about it. - -"They did not intend any rudeness," she said, after they had gone -by. "They are not much more than boys and not perfectly behaved. -People often stare when they see a very pretty girl. I am afraid -I do it myself. You are very pretty," quite calmly, and as one -speaking without prejudice. - -Robin turned and looked at her, and the colour, which was like a -Jacqueminot rose, flooded her face. She was at the flushing age. -Her gaze was interested, speculative, and a shade startled--merely -a shade. - -"Oh," she said briefly--not in exclamation exactly, but in a sort -of acceptance. Then she looked straight before her and went on -walking, with the lovely, slightly swaying, buoyant step which in -itself drew attracted eyes after her. - -"If I were a model governess, such as one read of long before -you were born," Mademoiselle Valle continued, "I should feel it -my duty to tell you that beauty counts for nothing. But that is -nonsense. It counts a great deal--with some women it counts for -everything. Such women are not lucky. One should thank Heaven -for it and make the best of it, without exaggerated anxiety. Both -Dowie and I, who love you, are GRATEFUL to le bon Dieu that you -are pretty." - -"I have sometimes thought I was pretty, when I saw myself in the -glass," said Robin, with unexcited interest. "It seemed to me that -I LOOKED pretty. But, at the same time, I couldn't help knowing -that everything is a matter of taste and that it might be because -I was conceited." - -"You are not conceited," answered the Frenchwoman. - -"I don't want to be," said Robin. "I want to be--a serious person -with--with a strong character." - -Mademoiselle's smile was touched with affectionate doubt. It had -not occurred to her to view this lovely thing in the light of a -"strong" character. Though, after all, what exactly was strength? -She was a warm, intensely loving, love compelling, tender being. -Having seen much of the world, and of humanity and inhumanity, -Mademoiselle Valle had had moments of being afraid for -her--particularly when, by chance, she recalled the story Dowson -had told her of the bits of crushed and broken leaves. - -"A serious person," she said, "and strong?" - -"Because I must earn my own living," said Robin. "I must be strong -enough to take care of myself. I am going to be a governess--or -something." - -Here, it was revealed to Mademoiselle as in a flash, was the reason -why she had applied herself with determination to her studies. This -had been the object in view. For reasons of her own, she intended -to earn her living. With touched interest, Mademoiselle Valle -waited, wondering if she would be frank about the reason. She -merely said aloud: - -"A governess?" - -"Perhaps there may be something else I can do. I might be a -secretary or something like that. Girls and women are beginning -to do so many new things," her charge explained herself. "I do not -want to be--supported and given money. I mean I do not want--other -people--to buy my clothes and food--and things. The newspapers are -full of advertisements. I could teach children. I could translate -business letters. Very soon I shall be old enough to begin. Girls -in their teens do it." - -She had laid some of her cards on the table, but not all, poor -child. She was not going into the matter of her really impelling -reasons. But Mademoiselle Valle was not dull, and her affection -added keenness to her mental observations. Also she had naturally -heard the story of the Thorpe lawsuit from Dowson. Inevitably -several points suggested themselves to her. - -"Mrs. Gareth-Lawless----" she began, reasonably. - -But Robin stopped her by turning her face full upon her once more, -and this time her eyes were full of clear significance. - -"She will let me go," she said. "You KNOW she will let me -go, Mademoiselle, darling. You KNOW she will." There was a frank -comprehension and finality in the words which made a full revelation -of facts Mademoiselle herself had disliked even to allow to form -themselves into thoughts. The child knew all sorts of things and -felt all sorts of things. She would probably never go into details, -but she was extraordinarily, harrowingly, AWARE. She had been -learning to be aware for years. This had been the secret she had -always kept to herself. - -"If you are planning this," Mademoiselle said, as reasonably as -before, "we must work very seriously for the next few years." - -"How long do you think it will take?" asked Robin. She was nearing -sixteen--bursting into glowing blossom--a radiant, touching thing -whom one only could visualize in flowering gardens, in charming, -enclosing rooms, figuratively embraced by every mature and kind -arm within reach of her. This presented itself before Mademoiselle -Valle with such vividness that it was necessary for her to control -a sigh. - -"When I feel that you are ready, I will tell you," she answered. -"And I will do all I can to help you--before I leave you." - -"Oh!" Robin gasped, in an involuntarily childish way, "I--hadn't -thought of that! How could I LIVE without you--and Dowie?" - -"I know you had not thought of it," said Mademoiselle, affectionately. -"You are only a dear child yet. But that will be part of it, you -know. A governess or a secretary, or a young lady in an office -translating letters cannot take her governess and maid with her." - -"Oh!" said Robin again, and her eyes became suddenly so dewy that -the person who passed her at the moment thought he had never seen -such wonderful eyes in his life. So much of her was still child -that the shock of this sudden practical realization thrust the mature -and determined part of her being momentarily into the background, -and she could scarcely bear her alarmed pain. It was true that she -had been too young to face her plan as she must. - -But, after the long walk was over and she found herself in her -bedroom again, she was conscious of a sense of being relieved of -a burden. She had been wondering when she could tell Mademoiselle -and Dowie of her determination. She had not liked to keep it a secret -from them as if she did not love them, but it had been difficult -to think of a way in which to begin without seeming as if she -thought she was quite grown up--which would have been silly. She -had not thought of speaking today, but it had all come about quite -naturally, as a result of Mademoiselle's having told her that she -was really very pretty--so pretty that it made people turn to look -at her in the street. She had heard of girls and women who were -like that, but she had never thought it possible that she----! -She had, of course, been looked at when she was very little, but -she had heard Andrews say that people looked because she had so -much hair and it was like curled silk. - -She went to the dressing table and looked at herself in the glass, -leaning forward that she might see herself closely. The face -which drew nearer and nearer had the effect of some tropic flower, -because it was so alive with colour which seemed to palpitate -instead of standing still. Her soft mouth was warm and brilliant -with it, and the darkness of her eyes was--as it had always -been--like dew. Her brow were a slender black velvet line, and her -lashes made a thick, softening shadow. She saw they were becoming. -She cupped her round chin in her hands and studied herself with a -desire to be sure of the truth without prejudice or self conceit. -The whole effect of her was glowing, and she felt the glow as -others did. She put up a finger to touch the velvet petal texture -of her skin, and she saw how prettily pointed and slim her hand -was. Yes, that was pretty--and her hair--the way it grew about -her forehead and ears and the back of her neck. She gazed at her -young curve and colour and flame of life's first beauty with deep -curiosity, singularly impersonal for her years. - -She liked it; she began to be grateful as Mademoiselle had said -she and Dowie were. Yes, if other people liked it, there was no -use in pretending it would not count. - -"If I am going to earn my living," she thought, with entire -gravity, "it may be good for me. If I am a governess, it will be -useful because children like pretty people. And if I am a secretary -and work in an office, I daresay men like one to be pretty because -it is more cheerful." - -She mentioned this to Mademoiselle Valle, who was very kind about -it, though she looked thoughtful afterwards. When, a few days later, -Mademoiselle had an interview with Coombe in Benby's comfortable -room, he appeared thoughtful also as he listened to her recital -of the incidents of the long walk during which her charge had -revealed her future plans. - -"She is a nice child," he said. "I wish she did not dislike me -so much. I understand her, villain as she thinks me. I am not a -genuine villain," he added, with his cold smile. But he was saying -it to himself, not to Mademoiselle. - -This, she saw, but--singularly, perhaps--she spoke as if in reply. - -"Of that I am aware." - -He turned his head slightly, with a quick, unprepared movement. - -"Yes?" he said. - -"Would your lordship pardon me if I should say that otherwise I -should not ask your advice concerning a very young girl?" - -He slightly waved his hand. - -"I should have known that--if I had thought of it. I do know it." - -Mademoiselle Valle bowed. - -"The fact," she said, "that she seriously thinks that perhaps -beauty may be an advantage to a young person who applies for work -in the office of a man of business because it may seem bright and -cheerful to him when he is tired and out of spirits--that gives one -furiously to think. Yes, to me she said it, milord--with the eyes -of a little dove brooding over her young. I could see her--lifting -them like an angel to some elderly vaurien, who would merely think -her a born cocotte." - -Here Coombe's rigid face showed thought indeed. - -"Good God!" he muttered, quite to himself, "Good God!" in a low, -breathless voice. Villain or saint, he knew not one world but -many. - -"We must take care of her," he said next. "She is not an insubordinate -child. She will do nothing yet?" - -"I have told her she is not yet ready," Mademoiselle Valle answered. -"I have also promised to tell her when she is--And to help her." - -"God help her if we do not!" he said. "She is, on the whole, as -ignorant as a little sheep--and butchers are on the lookout for -such as she is. They suit them even better than the little things -whose tendencies are perverse from birth. An old man with an evil -character may be able to watch over her from a distance." - -Mademoiselle regarded him with grave eyes, which took in his tall, -thin erectness of figure, his bearing, the perfection of his attire -with its unfailing freshness, which was not newness. - -"Do you call yourself an old man, milord?" she asked. - -"I am not decrepit--years need not bring that," was his answer. "But -I believe I became an old man before I was thirty. I have grown no -older--in that which is really age--since then." - -In the moment's silence which followed, his glance met Mademoiselle -Valle's and fixed itself. - -"I am not old enough--or young enough--to be enamoured of Mrs. -Gareth-Lawless' little daughter," he said. "YOU need not be told -that. But you have heard that there are those who amuse themselves -by choosing to believe that I am." - -"A few light and not too clean-minded fools," she admitted without -flinching. - -"No man can do worse for himself than to explain and deny," he -responded with a smile at once hard and fine. "Let them continue -to believe it." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - - - - -Sixteen passed by with many other things much more disturbing -and important to the world than a girl's birthday; seventeen was -gone, with passing events more complicated still and increasingly -significant, but even the owners of the hands hovering over the -Chessboard, which was the Map of Europe, did not keep a watch on -all of them as close as might have been kept with advantage. Girls -in their teens are seldom interested in political and diplomatic -conditions, and Robin was not fond of newspapers. She worked well -and steadily under Mademoiselle's guidance, and her governess -realized that she was not losing sight of her plans for self -support. She was made aware of this by an occasional word or so, -and also by a certain telepathic union between them. Little as she -cared for the papers, the child had a habit of closely examining -the advertisements every day. She read faithfully the columns -devoted to those who "Want" employment or are "Wanted" by employers. - -"I look at all the paragraphs which begin 'Wanted, a young lady' -or a 'young woman' or a 'young person,' and those which say that -'A young person' or 'a young woman' or 'a young lady' desires a -position. I want to find out what is oftenest needed." - -She had ceased to be disturbed by the eyes which followed her, -or opened a little as she passed. She knew that nothing had come -undone or was crooked and that untidiness had nothing to do with -the matter. She accepted being looked at as a part of everyday -life. A certain friendliness and pleasure in most of the glances she -liked and was glad of. Sometimes men of the flushed, middle-aged -or elderly type displeased her by a sort of boldness of manner -and gaze, but she thought that they were only silly, giddy, old -things who ought to go home to their families and stay with them. -Mademoiselle or Dowie was nearly always with her, but, as she was -not a French jemme fille, this was not because it was supposed -that she could not be trusted out alone, but because she enjoyed -their affectionate companionship. - -There was one man, however, whom she greatly disliked, as young -girls will occasionally dislike a member of the opposite sex for -no special reason they can wholly explain to themselves. - -He was an occasional visitor of her mother's--a personable young -Prussian officer of high rank and title. He was blonde and military -and good-looking; he brought his bearing and manner from the Court -at Berlin, and the click of his heels as he brought them smartly -together, when he made his perfect automatic bow, was one of the -things Robin knew she was reasonless in feeling she detested in -him. - -"It makes me feel as if he was not merely bowing as a a man who -is a gentleman does," she confided to Mademoiselle Valle, "but -as if he had been taught to do it and to call attention to it as -if no one had ever known how to do it properly before. It is so -flourishing in its stiff way that it's rather vulgar." - -"That is only personal fancy on your part," commented Mademoiselle. - -"I know it is," admitted Robin. "But--" uneasily, "--but that -isn't what I dislike in him most. It's his eyes, I suppose they -are handsome eyes. They are blue and full--rather too full. They -have a queer, swift stare--as if they plunged into other people's -eyes and tried to hold them and say something secret, all in one -second. You find yourself getting red and trying to look away." - -"I don't," said Mademoiselle astutely--because she wanted to hear -the rest, without asking too many questions. - -Robin laughed just a little. - -"You have not seen him do it. I have not seen him do it myself very -often. He comes to call on--Mamma"--she never said "Mother"--"when -he is in London. He has been coming for two or three seasons. The -first time I saw him I was going out with Dowie and he was just -going upstairs. Because the hall is so small, we almost knocked -against each other, and he jumped back and made his bow, and he -stared so that I felt silly and half frightened. I was only fifteen -then." - -"And since then?" Mademoiselle Valle inquired. - -"When he is here it seems as if I always meet him somewhere. Twice, -when Fraulein Hirsch was with me in the Square Gardens, he came -and spoke to us. I think he must know her. He was very grand and -condescendingly polite to her, as if he did not forget she was -only a German teacher and I was only a little girl whose mamma -he knew. But he kept looking at me until I began to hate him." - -"You must not dislike people without reason. You dislike Lord -Coombe." - -"They both make me creep. Lord Coombe doesn't plunge his eyes -into mine, but he makes me creep with his fishy coldness. I feel -as if he were like Satan in his still way." - -"That is childish prejudice and nonsense." - -"Perhaps the other is, too," said Robin. "But they both make me -creep, nevertheless. I would rather DIE than be obliged to let -one of them touch me. That was why I would never shake hands with -Lord Coombe when I was a little child." - -"You think Fraulein Hirsch knows the Baron?" Mademoiselle inquired -further. - -"I am sure she does. Several times, when she has gone out to walk -with me, we have met him. Sometimes he only passes us and salutes, -but sometimes he stops and says a few words in a stiff, magnificent -way. But he always bores his eyes into mine, as if he were finding -out things about me which I don't know myself. He has passed -several times when you have been with me, but you may not remember." - -Mademoiselle Valle chanced, however, to recall having observed -the salute of a somewhat haughty, masculine person, whose military -bearing in itself was sufficient to attract attention, so markedly -did it suggest the clanking of spurs and accoutrements, and the -high lift of a breast bearing orders. - -"He is Count von Hillern, and I wish he would stay in Germany," -said Robin. - -Fraulein Hirsch had not been one of those who returned hastily to -her own country, giving no warning of her intention to her employers. -She had remained in London and given her lessons faithfully. She -was a plain young woman with a large nose and pimpled, colourless -face and shy eyes and manner. Robin had felt sure that she stood -in awe of the rank and military grandeur of her fellow countryman. -She looked shyer than ever when he condescended to halt and address -her and her charge--so shy, indeed, that her glances seemed furtive. -Robin guessed that she admired him but was too humble to be at -ease when he was near her. More than once she had started and turned -red and pale when she saw him approaching, which had caused Robin -to wonder if she herself would feel as timid and overpowered by -her superiors, if she became a governess. Clearly, a man like -Count von Hillern would then be counted among her superiors, and -she must conduct herself becomingly, even if it led to her looking -almost stealthy. She had, on several occasions, asked Fraulein -certain questions about governesses. She had inquired as to the age -at which one could apply for a place as instructress to children -or young girls. Fraulein Hirsch had begun her career in Germany -at the age of eighteen. She had lived a serious life, full of -responsibilities at home as one of a large family, and she had -perhaps been rather mature for her age. In England young women -who wished for situations answered advertisements and went to see -the people who had inserted them in the newspapers, she explained. -Sometimes, the results were very satisfactory. Fraulein Hirsch -was very amiable in her readiness to supply information. Robin did -not tell her of her intention to find work of some sort--probably -governessing--but the young German woman was possessed of a mind -"made in Germany" and was quite well aware of innumerable things -her charge did not suspect her of knowing. One of the things -she knew best was that the girl was a child. She was not a child -herself, and she was an abjectly bitter and wretched creature who -had no reason for hope. She lived in small lodgings in a street -off Abbey Road, and, in a drawer in her dressing table, she kept -hidden a photograph of a Prussian officer with cropped blond head, -and handsome prominent blue eyes, arrogantly gazing from beneath -heavy lids which drooped. He was of the type the German woman, young -and slim, or mature and stout, privately worships as a god whose -relation to any woman can only be that of a modern Jove stooping -to command service. In his teens he had become accustomed to the -female eye which lifts itself adoringly or casts the furtively -excited glance of admiration or appeal. It was the way of mere -nature that it should be so--the wise provision of a masculine -God, whose world was created for the supply and pleasure of males, -especially males of the Prussian Army, whose fixed intention it -was to dominate the world and teach it obedience. - -To such a man, so thoroughly well trained in the comprehension of -the power of his own rank and values, a young woman such as Fraulein -Hirsch--subservient and without beauty--was an unconsidered object -to be as little regarded as the pavement upon which one walks. The -pavement had its uses, and such women had theirs. They could, at -least, obey the orders of those Heaven had placed above them, and, -if they showed docility and intelligence, might be re warded by a -certain degree of approval. - -A presumption, which would have dared to acknowledge to the existence -of the hidden photograph, could not have been encompassed by the -being of Fraulein Hirsch. She was, in truth, secretly enslaved -by a burning, secret, heart-wringing passion which, sometimes, as -she lay on her hard bed at night, forced from her thin chest hopeless -sobs which she smothered under the bedclothes. - -Figuratively, she would have licked the boots of her conquering -god, if he would have looked at her--just looked-as if she were -human. But such a thing could not have occurred to him. He did -not even think of her as she thought of herself, torturingly--as -not young, not in any degree good-looking, not geboren, not even -female. He did not think of her at all, except as one of those born -to serve in such manner as their superiors commanded. She was in -England under orders, because she was unobtrusive looking enough -to be a safe person to carry on the work she had been given to -do. She was cleverer than she looked and could accomplish certain -things without attracting any attention whatsoever. - -Von Hillern had given her instructions now and then, which had -made it necessary for him to see and talk to her in various places. -The fact that she had before her the remote chance of seeing him -by some chance, gave her an object in life. It was enough to be -allowed to stand or sit for a short time near enough to have been -able to touch his sleeve, if she had had the mad audacity to do -it; to quail before his magnificent glance, to hear his voice, to -ALMOST touch his strong, white hand when she gave him papers, to -see that he deigned, sometimes, to approve of what she had done, -to assure him of her continued obedience, with servile politeness. - -She was not a nice woman, or a good one, and she had, from her -birth, accepted her place in her world with such finality that her -desires could not, at any time, have been of an elevated nature. -If he had raised a haughty hand and beckoned to her, she would have -followed him like a dog under any conditions he chose to impose. -But he did not raise his hand, and never would, because she had no -attractions whatsoever. And this she knew, so smothered her sobs -in her bed at night or lay awake, fevered with anticipation when -there was a vague chance that he might need her for some reason -and command her presence in some deserted park or country road -or cheap hotel, where she could take rooms for the night as if -she were a passing visitor to London. - -One night--she had taken cheap lodgings for a week in a side street, -in obedience to orders--he came in about nine o'clock dressed in -a manner whose object was to dull the effect of his grandeur and -cause him to look as much like an ordinary Englishman as possible. - -But, when the door was closed and he stood alone in the room -with her, she saw, with the blissful pangs of an abjectly adoring -woman, that he automatically resumed his magnificence of bearing. -His badly fitting overcoat removed, he stood erect and drawn to -his full height, so dominating the small place and her idolatrously -cringing being that her heart quaked within her. Oh! to dare to -cast her unloveliness at his feet, if it were only to be trampled -upon and die there! No small sense of humour existed in her brain -to save her from her pathetic idiocy. Romantic humility and touching -sacrifice to the worshipped one were the ideals she had read of -in verse and song all her life. Only through such servitude and -sacrifice could woman gain man's love--and even then only if she -had beauty and the gifts worthy of her idol's acceptance. - -It was really his unmitigated arrogance she worshipped and crawled -upon her poor, large-jointed knees to adore. Her education, her -very religion itself had taught that it was the sign of his nobility -and martial high breeding. Even the women of his own class believed -something of the same sort--the more romantic and sentimental -of them rather enjoying being mastered by it. To Fraulein Hirsch's -mental vision, he was a sublimated and more dazzling German -Rochester, and she herself a more worthy, because more submissive, -Jane Eyre. Ach Gott! His high-held, cropped head--his so beautiful -white hands--his proud eyes which deigned to look at her from -their drooping lids! His presence filled the shabby room with the -atmosphere of a Palace. - -He asked her a few questions; he required from her certain notes she -had made; without wasting a word or glance he gave her in detail -certain further orders. - -He stood by the table, and it was, therefore, necessary that she -should approach him--should even stand quite near that she might -see clearly a sketch he made hastily--immediately afterwards tearing -it into fragments and burning it with a match. She was obliged -to stand so near him that her skirt brushed his trouser leg. His -nearness, and a vague scent of cigar smoke, mingled with the -suggestion of some masculine soap or essence, were so poignant -in their effect that she trembled and water rose in her eyes. In -fact--and despite her terrified effort to control it, a miserable -tear fell on her cheek and stood there because she dared not wipe -it away. - -Because he realized, with annoyance, that she was trembling, he -cast a cold, inquiring glance at her and saw the tear. Then he -turned away and resumed his examination of her notes. He was not -here to make inquiries as to whether a sheep of a woman was crying -or had merely a cold in her head. "Ach!" grovelled poor Hirsch in -her secret soul,--his patrician control of outward expression and -his indifference to all small and paltry things! It was part, -not only of his aristocratic breeding, but of the splendour of -his military training. - -It was his usual custom to leave her at once, when the necessary -formula had been gone through. Tonight--she scarcely dared to -believe it--he seemed to have some reason for slight delay. He -did not sit down or ask Fraulein Hirsch to do so--but he did not -at once leave the room. He lighted a quite marvellous cigar--deigning -a slight wave of the admired hand which held it, designating that -he asked permission. Oh! if she dared have darted to him with a -match! He stood upon the hearth and asked a casual-sounding question -or so regarding her employer, her household, her acquaintances, -her habits. - -The sole link between them was the asking of questions and the -giving of private information, and, therefore, the matter of taste -in such matters did not count as a factor. He might ask anything -and she must answer. Perhaps it was necessary for her to seek some -special knowledge among the guests Mrs. Gareth-Lawless received. -But training, having developed in her alertness of mind, led her -presently to see that it was not Mrs. Gareth-Lawless he was chiefly -interested in--but a member of her family--the very small family -which consisted of herself and her daughter. - -It was Robin he was enclosing in his network of questions. And she -had seen him look at Robin when he had passed or spoken to them. -An illuminating flash brought back to her that he had cleverly -found out from her when they were to walk together, and where they -were to go. She had not been quick enough to detect this before, -but she saw it now. Girls who looked like that--yes! But it could -not be--serious. An English girl of such family--with such a -mother! A momentary caprice, such as all young men of his class -amused themselves with and forgot--but nothing permanent. It would -not, indeed, be approved in those High Places where obedience was -the first commandment of the Decalogue. - -But he did not go. He even descended a shade from his inaccessible -plane. It was not difficult for him to obtain details of the odd -loneliness of the girl's position. Fraulein Hirsch was quite ready -to explain that, in spite of the easy morals and leniency of rank -and fashion in England, she was a sort of little outcast from -sacred inner circles. There were points she burned to make clear -to him, and she made them so. She was in secret fiercely desirous -that he should realize to the utmost, that, whatsoever rashness -this young flame of loveliness inspired in him, it was NOT possible -that he could regard it with any shadow of serious intention. -She had always disliked the girl, and now her weak mildness and -humility suddenly transformed themselves into something else--a -sort of maternal wolfishness. It did not matter what happened to -the girl--and whatsoever befell or did not befall her, she--Mathilde -Hirsch--could neither gain nor lose hope through it. But, if -she did not displease him and yet saved him from final disaster, -he would, perhaps, be grateful to her--and perhaps, speak with -approval--or remember it--and his Noble Mother most certainly -would--if she ever knew. But behind and under and through all these -specious reasonings, was the hot choking burn of the mad jealousy -only her type of luckless woman can know--and of whose colour she -dare not show the palest hint. - -"I have found out that, for some reason, she thinks of taking a -place as governess," she said. - -"Suggest that she go to Berlin. There are good places there," was -his answer. - -"If she should go, her mother will not feel any anxiety about -her," returned Fraulein Hirsch. - -"If, then, some young man she meets in the street makes love to -her and they run away together, she will not be pursued by her -relatives." - -Fraulein Hirsch's flat mouth looked rather malicious. - -"Her mother is too busy to pursue her, and there is no one -else--unless it were Lord Coombe, who is said to want her himself." - -Von Hillern shrugged his fine shoulders. - -"At his age! After the mother! That is like an Englishman!" - -Upon this, Fraulein Hirsch drew a step nearer and fixed her eyes -upon his, as she had never had the joy of fixing them before in -her life. She dared it now because she had an interesting story to -tell him which he would like to hear. It WAS like an Englishman. -Lord Coombe had the character of being one of the worst among -them, but was too subtle and clever to openly offend people. It -was actually said that he was educating the girl and keeping her -in seclusion and that it was probably his colossal intention to -marry her when she was old enough. He had no heir of his own--and -he must have beauty and innocence. Innocence and beauty his -viciousness would have. - -"Pah!" exclaimed von Hillern. "It is youth which requires such -things--and takes them. That is all imbecile London gossip. No, he -would not run after her if she ran away. He is a proud man and he -knows he would be laughed at. And he could not get her back from -a young man--who was her lover." - -Her lover! How it thrilled the burning heart her poor, flat chest -panted above. With what triumphant knowledge of such things he -said it. - -"No, he could not," she answered, her eyes still on his. "No one -could." - -He laughed a little, confidently, but almost with light indifference. - -"If she were missing, no particular search would be made then," -he said. "She is pretty enough to suit Berlin." - -He seemed to think pleasantly of something as he stood still for -a moment, his eyes on the floor. When he lifted them, there was -in their blue a hint of ugly exulting, though Mathilde Hirsch did -not think it ugly. He spoke in a low voice. - -"It will be an exciting--a colossal day when we come to London--as -we shall. It will be as if an ocean had collected itself into one -huge mountain of a wave and swept in and overwhelmed everything. -There will be confusion then and the rushing up of untrained -soldiers--and shouts--and yells----" - -"And Zeppelins dropping bombs," she so far forgot herself as to -pant out, "and buildings crashing and pavements and people smashed! -Westminster and the Palaces rocking, and fat fools running before -bayonets." - -He interrupted her with a short laugh uglier than the gleam in -his eyes. He was a trifle excited. - -"And all the women running about screaming and trying to hide and -being pulled out. We can take any of their pretty, little, high -nosed women we choose--any of them." - -"Yes," she answered, biting her lip. No one would take her, she -knew. - -He put on his overcoat and prepared to leave her. As he stood at -the door before opening it, he spoke in his usual tone of mere -command. - -"Take her to Kensington Gardens tomorrow afternoon," he said. "Sit -in one of the seats near the Round Pond and watch the children -sailing their boats. I shall not be there but you will find -yourself near a quiet, elegant woman in mourning who will speak -to you. You are to appear to recognize her as an old acquaintance. -Follow her suggestions in everything." - -After this he was gone and she sat down to think it over. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - - - - -She saw him again during the following week and was obliged to -tell him that she had not been able to take her charge to Kensington -Gardens on the morning that he had appointed but that, as the girl -was fond of the place and took pleasure in watching the children -sailing their boats on the Round Pond, it would be easy to lead -her there. He showed her a photograph of the woman she would find -sitting on a particular bench, and he required she should look -at it long enough to commit the face to memory. It was that of a -quietly elegant woman with gentle eyes. - -"She will call herself Lady Etynge," he said. "You are to remember -that you once taught her little girl in Paris. There must be no haste -and no mistakes. It be well for them to meet--by accident--several -times." - -Later he aid to her: - -"When Lady Etynge invites her to go to her house, you will, of -course, go with her. You will not stay. Lady Etynge will tell you -what to do." - -In words, he did not involve himself by giving any hint of his -intentions. So far as expression went, he might have had none, -whatever. Her secret conclusion was that he knew, if he could see -the girl under propitious circumstances--at the house of a clever -and sympathetic acquaintance, he need have no shadow of a doubt -as to the result of his efforts to please her. He knew she was -a lonely, romantic creature, who had doubtless read sentimental -books and been allured by their heroes. She was, of course, just -ripe for young peerings into the land of love making. His had -been no peerings, thought the pale Hirsch sadly. What girl--or -woman--could resist the alluring demand of his drooping eyes, if -he chose to allow warmth to fill them? Thinking of it, she almost -gnashed her teeth. Did she not see how he would look, bending his -high head and murmuring to a woman who shook with joy under his -gaze? Had she not seen it in her own forlorn, hopeless dreams? - -What did it matter if what the world calls disaster befell the -girl? Fraulein Hirsch would not have called it disaster. Any woman -would have been paid a thousand times over. His fancy might last -a few months. Perhaps he would take her to Berlin--or to some -lovely secret spot in the mountains where he could visit her. -What heaven--what heaven! She wept, hiding her face on her hot, -dry hands. - -But it would not last long--and he would again think only of the -immense work--the august Machine, of which he was a mechanical -part--and he would be obliged to see and talk to her, Mathilde -Hirsch, having forgotten the rest. She could only hold herself -decently in check by telling herself again and again that it was -only natural that such things should come and go in his magnificent -life, and that the sooner it began the sooner it would end. - -It was a lovely morning when her pupil walked with her in Kensington -Gardens, and, quite naturally, strolled towards the Round Pond. -Robin was happy because there were flutings of birds in the air, -gardeners were stuffing crocuses and hyacinths into the flower -beds, there were little sweet scents floating about and so it was -Spring. She pulled a bare looking branch of a lilac bush towards -her and stooped and kissed the tiny brown buttons upon it, half -shyly. - -"I can't help it when I see the first ones swelling on the twigs. -They are working so hard to break out into green," she said. "One -loves everything at this time--everything! Look at the children -round the pond. That fat, little boy in a reefer and brown leather -leggings is bursting with joy. Let us go and praise his boat, -Fraulein." - -They went and Robin praised the boat until its owner was breathless -with rapture. Fraulein Hirsch, standing near her, looked furtively -at all the benches round the circle, giving no incautiously interested -glance to any one of them in particular. Presently, however, she -said: - -"I think that is Lady Etynge sitting on the third bench from -here. I said to you that I had heard she was in London. I wonder -if her daughter is still in the Convent at Tours?" - -When Robin returned, she saw a quiet woman in perfect mourning -recognize Fraulein Hirsch with a a bow and smile which seemed to -require nearer approach. - -"We must go and speak to her." Fraulein Hirsch said. "I know she -wil wish me to present you. She is fond of young girls--because -of Helene." - -Robin went forward prettily. The woman was gentle looking and -attracting. She had a sweet manner and was very kind to Fraulein -Hirsch. She seemed to know her well and to like her. Her daughter, -Helene, was still in the Convent at Tours but was expected home -very shortly. She would be glad to find that Fraulein Hirsch was -in London. - -"I have turned the entire top story of my big house into a pretty -suite for her. She has a fancy for living high above the street," -smiled Lady Etynge, indulgently. Perhaps she was a "Mother" person, -Robin thought. - -Both her looks and talk were kind, and she was very nice in her -sympathetic interest in the boats and the children's efforts to -sail them. - -"I often bring my book here and forget to read, because I find I -am watching them," she said. "They are so eager and so triumphant -when a boat gets across the Pond." - -She went away very soon and Robin watched her out of sight with -interest. - -They saw her again a few days later and talked a little more. She -was not always near the Pond when they came, and they naturally -did not go there each time they walked together, though Fraulein -Hirsch was fond of sitting and watching the children. - -She had been to take tea with her former employer, she told Robin -one day, and she was mildly excited by the preparations for Helene, -who had been educated entirely in a French convent and was not -like an English girl at all. She had always been very delicate -and the nuns seemed to know how to take care of her and calm her -nerves with their quiet ways. - -"Her mother is rather anxious about her coming to London. She has, -of course, no young friends here and she is so used to the quiet -of convent life," the Fraulein explained. "That is why the rooms -at the top of the house have been arranged for her. She will hear -so little sound. I confess I am anxious about her myself. Lady -Etynge is wondering if she can find a suitable young companion to -live in the house with her. She must be a young lady and perfectly -educated--and with brightness and charm. Not a person like myself, -but one who can be treated as an equal and a friend--almost a -playmate." - -"It would be an agreeable position," commented Robin, thoughtfully. - -"Extremely so," answered Fraulein Hirsch. "Helene is a most lovable -and affectionate girl. And Lady Etynge is rich enough to pay a -large salary. Helene is her idol. The suite of rooms is perfect. -In Germany, girls are not spoiled in that way. It is not considered -good for them." - -It was quite natural, since she felt an interest in Helene, that, -on their next meeting, Robin should find pleasure in sitting on -the green bench near the girl's mother and hear her speak of her -daughter. She was not diffuse or intimate in her manner. Helene -first appeared in the talk as a result of a polite inquiry made -by Fraulein Hirsch. Robin gathered, as she listened, that this -particular girl was a tenderly loved and cared for creature and -was herself gentle and intelligent and loving. She sounded like -the kind of a girl one would be glad to have for a friend. Robin -wondered and wondered--if she would "do." Perhaps, out of tactful -consideration for the feelings of Fraulein Hirsch who would not -"do"--because she was neither bright, nor pretty, nor a girl--Lady -Etynge touched but lightly on her idea that she might find a sort -of sublimated young companion for her daughter. - -"It would be difficult to advertise for what one wants," she said. - -"Yes. To state that a girl must be clever and pretty and graceful, -and attractive, would make it difficult for a modest young lady -to write a suitable reply," said Fraulein Hirsch grimly, and both -Lady Etynge and Robin smiled. - -"Among your own friends," Lady Etynge said to Robin, a little -pathetically in her yearning, "do you know of anyone--who might -know of anyone who would fit in? Sometimes there are poor little -cousins, you know?" - -"Or girls who have an independent spirit and would like to support -themselves," said the Fraulein. "There are such girls in these -advanced times." - -"I am afraid I don't know anyone," answered Robin. Modesty also -prevented her from saying that she thought she did. She herself -was well educated, she was good tempered and well bred, and she -had known for some time that she was pretty. - -"Perhaps Fraulein Hirsch may bring you in to have tea with me some -afternoon when you are out," Lady Etynge said kindly before she -left them. "I think you would like to see Helene's rooms. I should -be glad to hear what another girl thinks of them." - -Robin was delighted. Perhaps this was a way opening to her. She -talked to Mademoiselle Valle about it and so glowed with hope that -Mademoiselle's heart was moved. - -"Do you think I might go?" she said. "Do you think there is any -chance that I might be the right person? AM I nice enough--and -well enough educated, and ARE my manners good?" - -She did not know exactly where Lady Etynge lived, but believed -it was one of those big houses in a certain dignified "Place" -they both knew--a corner house, she was sure, because--by mere -chance--she had one day seen Lady Etynge go into such a house as -if it were her own. She did not know the number, but they could -ask Fraulein. - -Fraulein Hirsch was quite ready with detail concerning her former -patroness and her daughter. She obviously admired them very much. -Her manner held a touch of respectful reverence. She described -Helene's disposition and delicate nerves and the perfection of the -nuns' treatment of her. - -She described the beauty of the interior of the house, its luxury -and convenience, and the charms of the suite of apartments prepared -for Helene. She thought the number of the house was No. 97 A. Lady -Etynge was the kindest employer she had ever had. She believed that -Miss Gareth-Lawless and Helene would be delighted with each other, -if they met, and her impression was that Lady Etynge privately -hoped they would become friends. - -Her mild, flat face was so modestly amiable that Mademoiselle -Valle, who always felt her unattractive femininity pathetic, was -a little moved by her evident pleasure in having been the humble -means of providing Robin with acquaintances of an advantageous -kind. - -No special day had been fixed upon for the visit and the cup of tea. -Robin was eager in secret and hoped Lady Etynge would not forget -to remind them of her invitation. - -She did not forget. One afternoon--they had not seen her for several -days and had not really expected to meet her, because they took -their walk later than usual--they found her just rising from her -seat to go home as they appeared. - -"Our little encounters almost assume the air of appointments," she -said. "This is very nice, but I am just going away, I am sorry to -say. I wonder--" she paused a moment, and then looked at Fraulein -Hirsch pleasantly; "I wonder if, in about an hour, you would bring -Miss Gareth-Lawless to me to have tea and tell me if she thinks -Helene will like her new rooms. You said you would like to see -them," brightly to Robin. - -"You are very kind. I should like it so much," was Robin's answer. - -Fraulein Hirsch was correctly appreciative of the condescension -shown to her. Her manner was the perfection of the exact shade -of unobtrusive chaperonship. There was no improper suggestion of -a mistaken idea that she was herself a guest, or, indeed, anything, -in fact, but a proper appendage to her charge. Robin had never -been fond of Fraulein as she was fond of Mademoiselle and Dowie, -still she was not only an efficient teacher, but also a good walker -and very fond of long tramps, which Mademoiselle was really not -strong enough for, but which Robin's slender young legs rejoiced -in. - -The two never took cabs or buses, but always walked everywhere. -They walked on this occasion, and, about an hour later, arrived at -a large, corner house in Berford Place. A tall and magnificently -built footman opened the door for them, and they were handed into -a drawing room much grander than the one Robin sometimes glanced -into as she passed it, when she was at home. A quite beautiful -tea equipage awaited them on a small table, but Lady Etynge was -not in the room. - -"What a beautiful house to live in," said Robin, "but, do you know, -the number ISN'T 97 A. I looked as we came in, and it is No. 25." - -"Is it? I ought to have been more careful," answered Fraulein -Hirsch. "It is wrong to be careless even in small matters." - -Almost immediately Lady Etynge came in and greeted them, with a -sort of gentle delight. She drew Robin down on to a sofa beside -her and took her hand and gave it a light pat which was a caress. - -"Now you really ARE here," she said, "I have been so busy that -I have been afraid I should not have time to show you the rooms -before it was too late to make a change, if you thought anything -might be improved." - -"I am sure nothing can improve them," said Robin, more dewy-eyed -than usual and even a thought breathless, because this was really -a sort of adventure, and she longed to ask if, by any chance, -she would "do." And she was so afraid that she might lose this -amazingly good opportunity, merely because she was too young and -inexperienced to know how she ought to broach the subject. She -had not thought yet of asking Mademoiselle Valle how it should be -done. - -She was not aware that she looked at Lady Etynge with a heavenly, -little unconscious appeal, which made her enchanting. Lady Etynge -looked at her quite fixedly for an instant. - -"What a child you are! And what a colour your cheeks and lips -are!" she said. "You are much--much prettier than Helene, my dear." - -She got up and brought a picture from a side table to show it to -her. - -"I think she is lovely," she said. "Is it became I am her mother?" - -"Oh, no! Not because you are her mother!" exclaimed Robin. "She is -angelic!" - -She was rather angelic, with her delicate uplifted face and her -communion veil framing it mistily. - -The picture was placed near them and Robin looked at is many times -as they took their tea. To be a companion to a girl with a face -like that would be almost too much to ask of one's luck. There -was actual yearning in Robin's heart. Suddenly she realized that -she had missed something all her life, without knowing that she -missed it. It was the friendly nearness of youth like her own. -How she hoped that she might make Lady Etynge like her. After tea -was over, Lady Etynge spoke pleasantly to Fraulein Hirsch. - -"I know that you wanted to register a letter. There is a post-office -just around the corner. Would you like to go and register it while -I take Miss Gareth-Lawless upstairs? You have seen the rooms. You -will only be away a few minutes." - -Fraulein Hirsch was respectfully appreciative again. The letter -really was important. It contained money which she sent monthly -to her parents. This month she was rather late, and she would be -very glad to be allowed to attend to the matter without losing a -post. - -So she went out of the drawing-room and down the stairs, and Robin -heard the front door close behind her with a slight thud. She had -evidently opened and closed it herself without waiting for the -footman. - -The upper rooms in London houses--even in the large ones--are -usually given up to servants' bedrooms, nurseries, and school -rooms. Stately staircases become narrower as they mount, and the -climber gets glimpses of apartments which are frequently bare, -whatsoever their use, and, if not grubby in aspect, are dull and -uninteresting. - -But, in Lady Etynge's house, it was plain that a good deal had -been done. Stairs had been altered and widened, walls had been -given fresh and delicate tints, and one laid one's hand on cream -white balustrades and trod on soft carpets. A good architect had -taken interest in the problems presented to him, and the result was -admirable. Partitions must have been removed to make rooms larger -and of better shape. - -"Nothing could be altered without spoiling it!" exclaimed Robin, -standing in the middle of a sitting room, all freshness and exquisite -colour--the very pictures on the wall being part of the harmony. - -All that a girl would want or love was there. There was nothing -left undone--unremembered. The soft Chesterfield lounge, which -was not too big and was placed near the fire, the writing table, -the books, the piano of satinwood inlaid with garlands; the lamp -to sit and read by. - -"How glad she must be to come back to anyone who loves her so," -said Robin. - -Here was a quilted basket with three Persian kittens purring in -it, and she knelt and stroked their fluffiness, bending her slim -neck and showing how prettily the dark hair grew up from it. It was, -perhaps, that at which Lady Etynge was looking as she stood behind -her and watched her. The girl-nymph slenderness and flexibility -of her leaning body was almost touchingly lovely. - -There were several other rooms and each one was, in its way, more -charming than the other. A library in Dresden blue and white, and -with peculiarly pretty windows struck the last note of cosiness. -All the rooms had pretty windows with rather small square panes -enclosed in white frames. - -It was when she was in this room that Robin took her courage in -her hands. She must not let her chance go by. Lady Etynge was so -kind. She wondered if it would seem gauche and too informal to -speak now. - -She stood quite upright and still, though her voice was not quite -steady when she began. - -"Lady Etynge," she said, "you remember what Fraulein Hirsch said -about girls who wish to support themselves? I--I am one of them. -I want very much to earn my own living. I think I am well educated. -I have been allowed to read a good deal and my teachers, Mademoiselle -Valle and Fraulein Hirsch, say I speak and write French and German -well for an English girl. If you thought I could be a suitable -companion for Miss Etynge, I--should be very happy." - -How curiously Lady Etynge watched her as she spoke. She did not -look displeased, but there was something in her face which made -Robin afraid that she was, perhaps, after all, not the girl who -was fortunate enough to quite "do." - -She felt her hopes raised a degree, however, when Lady Etynge -smiled at her. - -"Do you know, I feel that is very pretty of you!" she said. "It -quite delights me--as I am an idolizing mother--that my mere talk -of Helene should have made you like her well enough to think you -might care to live with her. And I confess I am modern enough to -be pleased with your wishing to earn your own living." - -"I must," said Robin. "I MUST! I could not bear not to earn it!" -She spoke a little suddenly, and a flag of new colour fluttered -in her cheek. - -"When Helene comes, you must meet. If you like each other, as I -feel sure you will, and if Mrs. Gareth-Lawless does not object--if -it remains only a matter of being suitable--you are suitable, my -dear--you are suitable." - -She touched Robin's hand with the light pat which was a caress, -and the child was radiant. - -"Oh, you are kind to me!" The words broke from her involuntarily. -"And it is such GOOD fortune! Thank you, thank you, Lady Etynge." - -The flush of her joy and relief had not died out before the -footman, who had opened the door, appeared on the threshold. He -was a handsome young fellow, whose eyes were not as professionally -impassive as his face. A footman had no right to dart a swift side -look at one as people did in the street. He did dart such a glance. -Robin saw, and she was momentarily struck by its being one of those -she sometimes objected to. - -Otherwise his manner was without flaw. He had only come to announce -to his mistress the arrival of a caller. - -When Lady Etynge took the card from the salver, her expression -changed. She even looked slightly disturbed. - -"Oh, I am sorry," she murmured, "I must see her," lifting her eyes -to Robin. "It is an old friend merely passing through London. How -wicked of me to forget that she wrote to say that she might dash -in at any hour." - -"Please!" pled Robin, prettily. "I can run away at once. Fraulein -Hirsch must have come back. Please--" - -"The lady asked me particularly to say that she has only a few -minutes to stay, as she is catching a train," the footman decorously -ventured. - -"If that is the case," Lady Etynge said, even relievedly, "I will -leave you here to look at things until I come back. I really want -to talk to you a little more about yourself and Helene. I can't let -you go." She looked back from the door before she passed through -it. "Amuse yourself, my dear," and then she added hastily to the -man. - -"Have you remembered that there was something wrong with the latch, -William? See if it needs a locksmith." - -"Very good, my lady." - -She was gone and Robin stood by the sofa thrilled with happiness -and relief. How wonderful it was that, through mere lucky chance, -she had gone to watch the children sailing their boats! And -that Fraulein Hirsch had seen Lady Etynge! What good luck and how -grateful she was! The thought which passed through her mind was -like a little prayer of thanks. How strange it would be to be really -intimate with a girl like herself--or rather like Helene. It made -her heart beat to think of it. How wonderful it would be if Helene -actually loved her, and she loved Helene. Something sprang out -of some depths of her being where past things were hidden. The -something was a deadly little memory. Donal! Donal! It would -be--if she loved Helene and Helene loved her--as new a revelation -as Donal. Oh! she remembered. - -She heard the footman doing something to the latch of the door, -which caused it to make a clicking sound. He was obeying orders -and examining it. As she involuntarily glanced at him, he--bending -over the door handle--raised his eyes sideways and glanced at -her. It was an inexcusable glance from a domestic, because it was -actually as if he were taking the liberty of privately summing her -up--taking her points in for his own entertainment. She so resented -the unprofessional bad manners of it, that she turned away and -sauntered into the Dresden blue and white library and sat down -with a book. - -She was quite relieved, when, only a few minutes later, he went -away having evidently done what he could. - -The book she had picked up was a new novel and opened with an -attention-arresting agreeableness, which led her on. In fact it -led her on further and, for a longer time than she was aware of. -It was her way to become wholly absorbed in books when they allured -her; she forgot her surroundings and forgot the passing of time. -This was a new book by a strong man with the gift which makes alive -people, places, things. The ones whose lives had taken possession -of his being in this story were throbbing with vital truth. - -She read on and on because, from the first page, she knew them -as actual pulsating human creatures. They looked into her face, -they laughed, she heard their voices, she CARED for every trivial -thing that happened to them--to any of them. If one of them picked -a flower, she saw how he or she held it and its scent was in the -air. - -Having been so drawn on into a sort of unconsciousness of all -else, it was inevitable that, when she suddenly became aware that -she did not see her page quite clearly, she should withdraw her -eyes from her page and look about her. As she did so, she started -from her comfortable chair in amazement and some alarm. The room -had become so much darker that it must be getting late. How careless -and silly she had been. Where was Fraulein Hirsch? - -"I am only a strange girl and Lady Etynge might so easily have -forgotten me," passed through her mind. "Her friend may have stayed -and they may have had so much to talk about, that, of coarse, I -was forgotten. But Fraulein Hirsch--how could she!" - -Then, remembering the subservient humility of the Fraulein's mind, -she wondered if it could have been possible that she had been too -timid to do more than sit waiting--in the hall, perhaps--afraid -to allow the footman to disturb Lady Etynge by asking her where -her pupil was. The poor, meek, silly thing. - -"I must get away without disturbing anyone," she thought, "I -will slip downstairs and snatch Fraulein Hirsch from her seat and -we will go quietly out. I can write a nice note to Lady Etynge -tomorrow, and explain. I HOPE she won't mind having forgotten me. -I must make her feel sure that it did not matter in the least. -I'll tell her about the book." - -She replaced the book on the shelf from which she had taken it and -passed through into the delightful sitting room. The kittens were -playing together on the hearth, having deserted their basket. One -of them gave a soft, airy pounce after her and caught at her dress -with tiny claws, rolling over and over after his ineffectual snatch. - -She had not heard the footman close the door when he left the room, -but she found he must have done so, as it was now shut. When she -turned the handle it did not seem to work well, because the door -did not open as it ought to have done. She turned it again and -gave it a little pull, but it still remained tightly shut. She -turned it again, still with no result, and then she tried the small -latch. Perhaps the man had done some blundering thing when he had -been examining it. She remembered hearing several clicks. She -turned the handle again and again. There was no key in the keyhole, -so he could not have bungled with the key. She was quite aghast -at the embarrassment of the situation. - -"How CAN I get out without disturbing anyone, if I cannot open -the door!" she said. "How stupid I shall seem to Lady Etynge! She -won't like it. A girl who could forget where she was--and then not -be able to open a door and be obliged to bang until people come!" - -Suddenly she remembered that there had been a door in the bedroom -which had seemed to lead out into the hall. She ran into the room -in such a hurry that all three kittens ran frisking after her. -She saw she had not been mistaken. There was a door. She went to -it and turned the handle, breathless with excitement and relief. -But the handle of that door also would not open it. Neither would -the latch. And there was no key. - -"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh!" - -Then she remembered the electric bell near the fireplace in the -sitting room. There was one by the fireplace here, also. No, she -would ring the one in the sitting room. She went to it and pressed -the button. She could not hear the ghost of a sound and one could -generally hear SOMETHING like one. She rang again and waited. -The room was getting darker. Oh, how COULD Fraulein Hirsch--how -could she? - -She waited--she waited. Fifteen minutes by her little watch--twenty -minutes--and, in their passing, she rang again. She rang the bell -in the library and the one in the bedroom--even the one in the -bathroom, lest some might be out of order. She slowly ceased to be -embarrassed and self-reproachful and began to feel afraid, though -she did not know quite what she was afraid of. She went to one -of the windows to look at her watch again in the vanishing light, -and saw that she had been ringing the bells for an hour. She -automatically put up a hand and leaned against the white frame -of one of the decorative small panes of glass. As she touched it, -she vaguely realized that it was of such a solidity that it felt, -not like wood but iron. She drew her hand away quickly, feeling a -sweep of unexplainable fear--yes, it was FEAR. And why should she -so suddenly feel it? She went back to the door and tried again to -open it--as ineffectively as before. Then she began to feel a -little cold and sick. She returned to the Chesterfield and sat -down on it helplessly. - -"It seems as if--I had been locked in!" she broke out, in a faint, -bewildered wail of a whisper. "Oh, WHY--did they lock the doors!" - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - - - - -She had known none of the absolute horrors of life which were -possible in that underworld which was not likely to touch her own -existence in any form. - -"Why," had argued Mademoiselle Valle, "should one fill a white -young mind with ugly images which would deface with dark marks and -smears, and could only produce unhappiness and, perhaps, morbid -broodings? One does not feel it is wise to give a girl an education -in crime. One would not permit her to read the Newgate Calendar -for choice. She will be protected by those who love her and what -she must discover she will discover. That is Life." - -Which was why her first discovery that neither door could be -opened, did not at once fill her with horror. Her first arguments -were merely those of a girl who, though her brain was not inactive -pulp, had still a protected girl's outlook. She had been overwhelmed -by a sense of the awkwardness of her position and by the dread -that she would be obliged to disturb and, almost inevitably, -embarrass and annoy Lady Etynge. Of course, there had been some -bungling on the part of the impudent footman--perhaps actually at -the moment when he had given his sidelong leer at herself instead -of properly attending to what he was trying to do. That the bedroom -was locked might be the result of a dozen ordinary reasons. - -The first hint of an abnormality of conditions came after she had -rung the bells and had waited in vain for response to her summons. -There were servants whose business it was to answer bells at once. -If ALL the bells were out of order, why were they out of order when -Helene was to return in a few days and her apartment was supposed -to be complete? Even to the kittens--even to the kittens! - -"It seems as if I had been locked in," she had whispered to the -silence of the room. "Why did they lock the doors?" - -Then she said, and her heart began to thump and race in her side: - -"It has been done on purpose. They don't intend to let me out--for -some HORRIBLE reason!" - -Perhaps even her own growing panic was not so appalling as a sudden -rushing memory of Lady Etynge, which, at this moment, overthrew -her. Lady Etynge! Lady Etynge! She saw her gentle face and almost -affectionately watching eyes. She heard her voice as she spoke of -Helene; she felt the light pat which was a caress. - -"No! No!" she gasped it, because her breath had almost left her. -"No! No! She couldn't! No one could! There is NOTHING as wicked--as -that!" - -Bat, even as she cried out, the overthrow was utter, and she threw -herself forward on the arm of the couch and sobbed--sobbed with -the passion she had only known on the day long ago when she had -crawled into the shrubs and groveled in the earth. It was the same -kind of passion--the shaken and heart-riven woe of a creature who -has trusted and hoped joyously and has been forever betrayed. The -face and eyes had been so kind. The voice so friendly! Oh, how -could even the wickedest girl in the world have doubted their -sincerity. Unfortunately--or fortunately--she knew nothing whatever -of the mental processes of the wicked girls of the world, which -was why she lay broken to pieces, sobbing--sobbing, not at the -moment because she was a trapped thing, but because Lady Etynge -had a face in whose gentleness her heart had trusted and rejoiced. - -When she sat upright again, her own face, as she lifted it, would -have struck a perceptive onlooker as being, as it were, the face -of another girl. It was tear-stained and wild, but this was not the -cause of its change. The soft, bird eyes were different--suddenly, -amazingly older than they had been when she had believed in Helene. - -She had no experience which could reveal to her in a moment the -monstrousness of her danger, but all she had ever read, or vaguely -gathered, of law breakers and marauders of society, collected -itself into an advancing tidal wave of horror. - -She rose and went to the window and tried to open it, but it was -not intended to open. The decorative panes were of small size -and of thick glass. Her first startled impression that the white -framework seemed to be a painted metal was apparently founded on -fact. A strong person might have bent it with a hammer, but he -could not have broken it. She examined the windows in the other -rooms and they were of the same structure. - -"They are made like that," she said to herself stonily, "to prevent -people from getting OUT." - -She stood at the front one and looked down into the broad, stately -"Place." It was a long way to look down, and, even if the window -could be opened, one's voice would not be heard. The street -lamps were lighted and a few people were to be seen walking past -unhurriedly. - -"In the big house almost opposite they are going to give a party. -There is a red carpet rolled out. Carriages are beginning to drive -up. And here on the top floor, there is a girl locked up--And they -don't know!" - -She said it aloud, and her voice sounded as though it were not her -own. It was a dreadful voice, and, as she heard it, panic seized -her. - -Nobody knew--nobody! Her mother never either knew or cared where -she was, but Dowie and Mademoiselle always knew. They would be -terrified. Fraulein Hirsch had, perhaps, been told that her pupil -had taken a cab and gone home and she would return to her lodgings -thinking she was safe. - -Then--only at this moment, and with a suddenness which produced a -sense of shock--she recalled that it was Fraulein Hirsch who had -presented her to Lady Etynge. Fraulein Hirsch herself! It was she -who had said she had been in her employ and had taught Helene--Helene! -It was she who had related anecdotes about the Convent at Tours -and the nuns who were so wise and kind! Robin's hand went up to -her forehead with a panic-stricken gesture. Fraulein Hirsch had -made an excuse for leaving her with Lady Etynge--to be brought -up to the top of the house quite alone--and locked in. Fraulein -Hirsch had KNOWN! And there came back to her the memory of the -furtive eyes whose sly, adoring sidelooks at Count Von Hillern -had always--though she had tried not to feel it--been, somehow, -glances she had disliked--yes, DISLIKED! - -It was here--by the thread of Fraulein Hirsch--that Count Von -Hillern was drawn into her mind. Once there, it was as if he stood -near her--quite close--looking down under his heavy, drooping lids -with stealthy, plunging eyes. It had always been when Fraulein -Hirsch had walked with her that they had met him--almost as if by -arrangement. - -There were only two people in the world who might--because she -herself had so hated them--dislike and choose in some way to punish -her. One was Count Von Hillern. The other was Lord Coombe. Lord -Coombe, she knew, was bad, vicious, did the things people only -hinted at without speaking of them plainly. A sense of instinctive -revolt in the strength of her antipathy to Von Hillern made her -feel that he must be of the same order. - -"If either of them came into this room now and locked the door -behind him, I could not get out." - -She heard herself say it aloud in the strange girl's dreadful -voice, as she had heard herself speak of the party in the big -house opposite. She put her soft, slim hand up to her soft, slim -throat. - -"I could not get out," she repeated. - -She ran to the door and began to beat on its panels. By this time, -she knew it would be no use and yet she beat with her hands until -they were bruised and then she snatched up a book and beat with -that. She thought she must have been beating half an hour when -she realized that someone was standing outside in the corridor, -and the someone said, in a voice she recognized as belonging to -the leering footman, - -"May as well keep still, Miss. You can't hammer it down and no -one's going to bother taking any notice," and then his footsteps -retired down the stairs. She involuntarily clenched her hurt hands -and the shuddering began again though she stood in the middle of -the room with a rigid body and her head thrown fiercely back. - -"If there are people in the world as hideous--and monstrous as -THIS--let them kill me if they want to. I would rather be killed -than live! They would HAVE to kill me!" and she said it in a frenzy -of defiance of all mad and base things on earth. - -Her peril seemed to force her thought to delve into unknown dark -places in her memory and dig up horrors she had forgotten--newspaper -stories of crime, old melodramas and mystery romances, in which -people disappeared and were long afterwards found buried under -floors or in cellars. It was said that the Berford Place houses, -winch were old ones, had enormous cellars under them. - -"Perhaps other girls have disappeared and now are buried in the -cellars," she thought. - -And the dreadful young voice added aloud. - -"Because they would HAVE to kill me." - -One of the Persian kittens curled up in the basket wakened because -he heard it and stretched a sleepy paw and mewed at her. - -Coombe House was one of the old ones, wearing somewhat the aspect -of a stately barrack with a fine entrance. Its court was enclosed -at the front by a stone wall, outside which passing London roared -in low tumult. The court was surrounded by a belt of shrubs strong -enough to defy the rain of soot which fell quietly upon them day -and night. - -The streets were already lighted for the evening when Mademoiselle -Valle presented herself at the massive front door and asked for -Lord Coombe. The expression of her face, and a certain intensity -of manner, caused the serious-looking head servant, who wore no -livery, to come forward instead of leaving her to the footmen. - -"His lordship engaged with--a business person--and must not be -disturbed," he said. "He is also going out." - -"He will see me," replied Mademoiselle Valle. "If you give him -this card he will see me." - -She was a plainly dressed woman, but she had a manner which removed -her entirely from the class of those who merely came to importune. -There was absolute certainty in the eyes she fixed with steadiness -on the man's face. He took her card, though he hesitated. - -"If he does not see me," she added, "he will be very much displeased." - -"Will you come in, ma'am, and take a seat for a moment?" he -ventured. "I will inquire." - -The great hall was one of London's most celebrated. A magnificent -staircase swept up from it to landings whose walls were hung -with tapestries the world knew. In a gilded chair, like a throne, -Mademoiselle Valle sat and waited. - -But she did not wait long. The serious-looking man without livery -returned almost immediately. He led Mademoiselle into a room -like a sort of study or apartment given up to business matters. -Mademoiselle Valle had never seen Lord Coombe's ceremonial evening -effect more flawless. Tall, thin and finely straight, he waited -in the centre of the room. He was evidently on the point of going -out, and the light-textured satin-lined overcoat he had already -thrown on revealed, through a suggestion of being winged, that he -wore in his lapel a delicately fresh, cream-coloured carnation. - -A respectable, middle-class looking man with a steady, -blunt-featured face, had been talking to him and stepped quietly -aside as Mademoiselle entered. There seemed to be no question of -his leaving the room. - -Coombe met his visitor half way: - -"Something has alarmed you very much?" he said. - -"Robin went out with Fraulein Hirsch this afternoon," she said -quickly. "They went to Kensington Gardens. They have not come -back--and it is nine o'clock. They are always at home by six." - -"Will you sit down," he said. The man with the steady face was -listening intently, and she realized he was doing so and that, -somehow, it was well that he should. - -"I do not think there is time for any one to sit down," she said, -speaking more quickly than before. "It is not only that she has -not come back. Fraulein Hirsch has presented her to one of her old -employers-a Lady Etynge. Robin was delighted with her. She has a -daughter who is in France--," - -"Marguerite staying with her aunt in Paris," suddenly put in the -voice of the blunt-featured man from his side of the room. - -"Helene at a Covent in Tours," corrected Mademoiselle, turning a -paling countenance towards him and then upon Coombe. "Lady Etynge -spoke of wanting to engage some nice girl as a companion to her -daughter, who is coming home. Robin thought she might have the -good fortune to please her. She was to go to Lady Etynge's house -to tea sine afternoon and be shown the rooms prepared for Helene. -She thought the mother charming." - -"Did she mention the address?" Coombe asked at once. - -"The house was in Berford Place-a large house at a corner. She -chanced to see Lady Etynge go into it one day or we should not -have known. She did not notice the number. Fraulein Hirsch thought -it was 97A. I have the Blue Book, Lord Coombe--through the -Peerage--through the Directory! There is no Lady Etynge and there -is no 97A in Berford Place! That is why I came here." - -The man who had stood aside, stepped forward again. It was as if -he answered some sign, though Lord Coombe at the moment crossed -the hearth and rang the bell. - -"Scotland Yard knows that, ma'am," said the man. "We've had our -eyes on that house for two weeks, and this kind of thing is what -we want." - -"The double brougham," was Coombe's order to the servant who -answered his ring. Then he came back to Mademoiselle. - -"Mr. Barkstow is a detective," he said. "Among the other things -he has done for me, he has, for some time, kept a casual eye on -Robin. She is too lovely a child and too friendless to be quite -safe. There are blackguards who know when a girl has not the -usual family protection. He came here to tell me that she had been -seen sitting in Kensington Gardens with a woman Scotland Yard has -reason to suspect." - -"A black 'un!" said Barkstow savagely. "If she's the one we think -she is-a black, poisonous, sly one with a face that no girl could -suspect." - -Coombe's still countenance was so deadly in the slow lividness, -which Mademoiselle saw began to manifest itself, that she caught -his sleeve with a shaking hand. - -"She's nothing but a baby!" she said. "She doesn't know what a baby -she is. I can see her eyes frantic with terror! She'd go mad." - -"Good God!" he said, in a voice so low it scarcely audible. - -He almost dragged her out of the room, though, as they passed -through the hall, the servants only saw that he had given the -lady his arm-and two of the younger footmen exchanged glances with -each other which referred solely to the inimitableness of the cut -of his evening overcoat. - -When they entered the carriage, Barkstow entered with them and -Mademoiselle Valle leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and -her face clutched in her hands. She was trying to shut out from -her mental vision a memory of Robin's eyes. - -"If--if Fraulein Hirsch is--not true," she broke out once. "Count -von Hillern is concerned. It has come upon me like a flash. Why -did I not see before?" - -The party at the big house, where the red carpet was rolled across -the pavement, was at full height when they drove into the Place. -Their brougham did not stop at the corner but at the end of the -line of waiting carriages. - -Coombe got out and looked up and down the thoroughfare. - -"It must be done quietly. There must be no scandal," he said. "The -policeman on the beat is an enormous fellow. You will attend to -him, Barkstow," and Barkstow nodded and strolled away. - -Coombe walked up the Place and down on the opposite side until he -was within a few yards of the corner house. When he reached this -point, he suddenly quickened his footsteps because he saw that -someone else was approaching it with an air of intention. It was -a man, not quite as tall as himself but of heavier build and with -square held shoulders. As the man set his foot upon the step, -Coombe touched him on the arm and said something in German. - -The man started angrily and then suddenly stood quite still and -erect. - -"It will be better for us to walk up the Place together," Lord -Coombe said, with perfect politeness. - -If he could have been dashed down upon the pavement and his head -hammered in with the handle of a sword, or if he could have been -run through furiously again and again, either or both of these -things would have been done. But neither was possible. It also was -not possible to curse aloud in a fashionable London street. Such -curses as one uttered must be held in one's foaming mouth between -one's teeth. Count von Hillern knew this better than most men -would have known it. Here was one of those English swine with whom -Germany would deal in her own way later. - -They walked back together as if they were acquaintances taking a -casual stroll. - -"There is nothing which would so infuriate your--Master-as -a disgraceful scandal," Lord Coombe's highbred voice suggested -undisturbedly. "The high honour of a German officer-the knightly -bearing of a wearer of the uniform of the All Highest-that sort -of thing you know. All that sort of thing!" - -Von Hillern ground out some low spoken and quite awful German words. -If he had not been trapped-if he had been in some quiet by-street! - -"The man walking ahead of us is a detective from Scotland Yard. -The particularly heavy and rather martial tread behind us is that -of a policeman much more muscular than either of us. There is a -ball going on in the large house with the red carpet spread across -the pavement. I know the people who are giving it. There are a -good many coachmen and footmen about. Most of them would probably -recognize me." - -It became necessary for Count von Hillern actually to wipe away -certain flecks of foam from his lips, as he ground forth again -more varied and awful sentiments in his native tongue. - -"You are going back to Berlin," said Coombe, coldly. "If we English -were not such fools, you would not be here. You are, of course, -not going into that house." - -Von Hillern burst into a derisive laugh. - -"You are going yourself," he said. "You are a worn-out old ROUE, -but you are mad about her yourself in your senile way." - -"You should respect my age and decrepitude," answered Coombe. "A -certain pity for my gray hairs would become your youth. Shall we -turn here or will you return to your hotel by some other way?" -He felt as if the man might a burst a blood vessel if he were -obliged to further restrain himself. - -Von Hillern wheeled at the corner and confronted him. - -"There will come a day--" he almost choked. - -"Der Toy? Naturally," the chill of Coombe's voice was a sound to -drive this particular man at this particular, damnably-thwarted -moment, raving mad. And not to be able to go mad! Not to be able! - -"Swine of a doddering Englishman! Who would envy you--trembling -on your lean shanks--whatsoever you can buy for yourself. I spit -on you-spit!" - -"Don't," said Coombe. "You are sputtering to such an extent that -you really ARE, you know." - -Von Hillern whirled round the corner. - -Coombe, left alone, stood still a moment. - -"I was in time," he said to himself, feeling somewhat nauseated. -"By extraordinary luck, I was in time. In earlier days one would -have said something about 'Provadence'." And he at once walked -back. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - - - - -It was not utterly dark in the room, though Robin, after passing -her hands carefully over the walls, had found no electric buttons -within reach nor any signs of candles or matches elsewhere. The -night sky was clear and brilliant with many stars, and this gave -her an unshadowed and lighted space to look at. She went to the -window and sat down on the floor, huddled against the wall with -her hands clasped round her knees, looking up. She did this in the -effort to hold in check a rising tide of frenzy which threatened -her. Perhaps, if she could fix her eyes on the vault full of -stars, she could keep herself from going out of her mind. Though, -perhaps, it would be better if she DID go out of her mind, she -found herself thinking a few seconds later. - -After her first entire acceptance of the hideous thing which -had happened to her, she had passed through nerve breaking phases -of terror-stricken imaginings. The old story of the drowning man -across whose brain rush all the images of life, came back to her. -She did not know where or when or how she had ever heard or read -of the ghastly incidents which came trooping up to her and staring -at her with dead or mad eyes and awful faces. Perhaps they were -old nightmares-perhaps a kind of delirium had seized her. She tried -to stop their coming by saying over and over again the prayers -Dowie had taught her when she was a child. And then she thought, -with a sob which choked her, that perhaps they were only prayers -for a safe little creature kneeling by a white bed-and did not -apply to a girl locked up in a top room, which nobody knew about. -Only when she thought of Mademoiselle Valle and Dowie looking for -her--with all London spread out before their helplessness--did -she cry. After that, tears seemed impossible. The images trooped -by too close to her. The passion hidden within her being--which -had broken out when she tore the earth under the shrubbery, and -which, with torture staring her in the face, had leaped in the -child's soul and body and made her defy Andrews with shrieks--leaped -up within her now. She became a young Fury, to whom a mad fight -with monstrous death was nothing. She told herself that she was -strong for a girl--that she could tear with her nails, she could -clench her teeth in a flesh, she could shriek, she could battle -like a young madwoman so that they would be FORCED to kill her. This -was one of the images which rose op before her again yet again, -A hideous-hideous thing, which would not remain away. - -She had not had any food since the afternoon cap of tea and she -began to feel the need of it. If she became faint-! She lifted -her face desperately as she said it, and saw the immense blue -darkness, powdered with millions of stars and curving over her--as -it curved over the hideous house and all the rest of the world. -How high--how immense--how fathomlessly still it was--how it seemed -as if there could be nothing else--that nothing else could be -real! Her hands were clenched together hard and fiercely, as she -scrambled to her knees and uttered a of prayer--not a child's--rather -the cry of a young Fury making a demand. - -"Perhaps a girl is Nothing," she cried, "-a girl locked up in a -room! But, perhaps, she is Something--she may be real too! Save -me--save me! But if you won't save me, let me be killed!" - -She knelt silent after it for a few minutes and then she sank down -and lay on the floor with her face on her arm. - -How it was possible that even young and worn-out as she was, such -peace as sleep could overcome her at such a time, one cannot say. -But in the midst of her torment she was asleep. - -But it was not for long. She wakened with a start and sprang to -her feet shivering. The carriages were still coming and going with -guests for the big house opposite. It could not be late, though -she seemed to have been in the place for years--long enough to feel -that it was the hideous centre of the whole earth and all sane and -honest memories were a dream. She thought she would begin to walk -up and down the room. - -But a sound she heard at this very instant made her stand stock -still. She had known there would be a sound at last--she had -waited for it all the time--she had known, of course, that it would -come, but she had not even tried to guess whether she would hear -it early or late. It would be the sound of the turning of the -handle of the locked door. It had come. There it was! The click -of the lock first and then the creak of the turned handle! - -She went to the window again and stood with her back against it, -so that her body was outlined against the faint light. Would the -person come in the dark, or would he carry a light? Something -began to whirl in her brain. What was the low, pumping thump she -seemed to hear and feel at the same time? It was the awful thumping -of her heart. - -The door opened--not stealthily, but quite in the ordinary way. -The person who came in did not move stealthily either. He came -in as though he were making an evening call. How tall and straight -his body was, with a devilish elegance of line against the background -of light in the hall. She thought she saw a white flower on his -lapel as his overcoat fell back. The leering footman had opened -the for him. - -"Turn on the lights." A voice she knew gave the order, the leering -footman obeyed, touching a spot high on the wall. - -She had vaguely and sickeningly felt almost sure that it would -be either Count von Hillern or Lord Coombe--and it was not Count -von Hillern! The cold wicked face--the ironic eyes which made her -creep--the absurd, elderly perfection of dress--even the flawless -flower-made her flash quake with repulsion. If Satan came into -the room, he might look like that and make one's revolting being -quake so. - -"I thought--it might be you," the strange girl's voice said to -him aloud. - -"Robin," he said. - -He was moving towards her and, as she threw out her madly clenched -little hands, he stopped and drew back. - -"Why did you think I might come?" he asked. - -"Because you are the kind of a man who would do the things only -devils would do. I have hated-hated-hated you since I was a baby. -Come and kill me if you like. Call the footman back to help you, -if yon like. I can't get away. Kill me--kill me--kill me!" - -She was lost in her frenzy and looked as if she were mad. - -One moment he hesitated, and then he pointed politely to the sofa. - -"Go and sit down, please," he suggested. It was no more then a -courteous suggestion. "I shall remain here. I have no desire to -approach you--if you'll pardon my saying so." - -But she would not leave the window. - -"It is natural that you should be overwrought," he said. - -"This is a damnable thing. You are too young to know the worst of -it." - -"You are the worst of it!" she cried. "You." - -"No" as the chill of his even voice struck her, she wondered if -he were really human. "Von Hillern would have been the worst of -it. I stopped him at the front door and knew how to send him away. -Now, listen, my good child. Hate me as ferociously as you like. -That is a detail. You are in the house of a woman whose name -stands for shame and infamy and crime." - -"What are YOU doing in it--" she cried again, "--in a place where -girls are trapped-and locked up in top rooms--to be killed?" - -"I came to take you away. I wish to do it quietly. It would be -rather horrible if the public discovered that you have spent some -hours here. If I had not slipped in when they were expecting von -Hillern, and if the servants were not accustomed to the quiet -entrance of well dressed men, I could not have got in without an -open row and the calling of the policemen,--which I wished to avoid. -Also, the woman downstairs knows me and realized that I was not -lying when I said the house was surrounded and she was on the -point of being 'run in'. She is a woman of broad experience, and -at once knew that she might as well keep quiet." - -Despite his cold eyes and the bad smile she hated, despite his -almost dandified meticulous attire and the festal note of his -white flower, which she hated with the rest--he was, perhaps, not -lying to her. Perhaps for the sake of her mother he had chosen -to save her--and, being the man he was, he had been able to make -use of his past experiences. - -She began to creep away from the window, and she felt her legs, -all at once, shaking under her. By the time she reached the -Chesterfield sofa she fell down by it and began to cry. A sort of -hysteria seized her, and she shook from head to foot and clutched -at the upholstery with weak hands which clawed. She was, indeed, -an awful, piteous sight. He was perhaps not lying, but she was -afraid of him yet. - -"I told the men who are waiting outside that if I did not bring -you out in half an hour, they were to break into the house. I do -not wish them to break in. We have not any time to spare. What -you are doing is quite natural, but you must try and get up." He -stood by her and said this looking down at her slender, wrung body -and lovely groveling head. - -He took a flask out of his overcoat pocket--and it was a gem of -goldsmith's art. He poured some wine into its cup and bent forward -to hold it out to her. - -"Drink this and try to stand on your feet," he said. He knew better -than to try to help her to rise--to touch her in any way. Seeing -to what the past hours had reduced her, he knew better. There was -mad fear in her eyes when she lifted her head and threw out her -hand again. - -"No! No!" she cried out. "No, I will drink nothing!" He understood -at once and threw the wine into the grate. - -"I see," he said. "You might think it might be drugged. You are -right. It might be. I ought to have thought of that." He returned -the flask to his pocket. "Listen again. You must. The time will -soon be up and we must not let those fellows break in and make -a row that will collect a crowd We must go at once. Mademoiselle -Valle is waiting for you in my carriage outside. You will not be -afraid to drink wine she gives you." - -"Mademoiselle!" she stammered. - -"Yes. In my carriage, which is not fifty yards from the house. Can -you stand on your feet?" She got up and stood but she was still -shuddering all over. - -"Can you walk downstairs? If you cannot, will you let me carry -you? I am strong enough-in spite of my years." - -"I can walk," she whispered. - -"Will you take my arm?" - -She looked at him for a moment with awful, broken-spirited eyes. - -"Yes. I will take your arm." - -He offered it to her with rigid punctiliousness of manner. He -did not even look at her. He led her out of the room and down the -three flights of stairs. As they passed by the open drawing-room -door, the lovely woman who had called herself Lady Etynge stood -near it and watched them with eyes no longer gentle. - -"I have something to say to you, Madam," he said; "When I place -this young lady in the hands of her governess, I will come back -and say it." - -"Is her governess Fraulein Hirsch?" asked the woman lightly. - -"No. She is doubtless on her way back to Berlin--and von Hillern -will follow her." - -There was only the first floor flight of stairs now. Robin could -scarcely see her way. But Lord Coombe held her up firmly and, in -a few moments more, the leering footman, grown pale, opened the -large door, they crossed the pavement to the carriage, and she -was helped in and fell, almost insensible, across Mademoiselle -Valle's lap, and was caught in a strong arm which shook as she -did. - -"Ma cherie," she heard, "The Good God! Oh, the good--good God!--And -Lord Coombe! Lord Coombe!" - -Coombe had gone back to the house. Four men returned with him, two -in plain clothes and two heavily-built policemen. They remained -below, but Coombe went up the staircase with the swift lightness -of a man of thirty. - -He merely stood upon the threshold of the drawing-room. This was -what he said, and his face was entirely white his eyes appalling. - -"My coming back to speak to you is--superfluous--and the result of -pure fury. I allow it to myself as mere shameless indulgence. More -is known against you than this--things which have gone farther and -fared worse. You are not young and you are facing years of life -in prison. Your head will be shaved--your hands worn and blackened -and your nails broken with the picking of oakum. You will writhe -in hopeless degradation until you are done for. You will have -time, in the night blackness if of your cell, to remember--to see -faces--to hear cries. Women such as you should learn what hell on -earth means. You will learn." - -When he ended, the woman hung with her back to the wall she had -staggered against, her mouth opening and shutting helplessly but -letting forth no sound. - -He took out an exquisitely fresh handkerchief and touched his -forehead because it was damp. His eyes were still appalling, but -his voice suddenly dropped and changed. - -"I have allowed myself to feel like a madman," he said. "It has -been a rich experience--good for such a soul as I own." - -He went downstairs and walked home because his carriage had taken -Robin and Mademoiselle back to the slice of a house. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - - - - -Von Hillern made no further calls on Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. His return -to Berlin was immediate and Fraulein Hirsch came no more to give -lessons in German. Later, Coombe learned from the mam with the -steady, blunt-featured face, that she had crossed the Channel on -a night boat not many hours after Von Hillern had walked away from -Berford Place. The exact truth was that she had been miserably -prowling about the adjacent streets, held in the neighbourhood -by some self-torturing morbidness, half thwarted helpless passion, -half triumphing hatred of the young thing she had betrayed. Up -and down the streets she had gone, round and round, wringing her -lean fingers together and tasting on her lips the salt of tears -which rolled down her cheeks--tears of torment and rage. - -There was the bitterness of death in what, by a mere trick of -chance, came about. As she turned a corner telling herself for -the hundredth time that she must go home, she found herself face -to face with a splendid figure swinging furiously along. She -staggered at the sight of the tigerish rage in the white face she -recognized with a gasp. It was enough merely to behold it. He had -met with some disastrous humiliation! - -As for him, the direct intervention of that Heaven whose special -care he was, had sent him a woman to punish--which, so far, was at -least one thing arranged as it should be. He knew so well how he -could punish her with his mere contempt and displeasure--as he -could lash a spaniel crawling at his feet. He need not deign to -tell her what had happened, and he did not. He merely drew back -and stood in stiff magnificence looking down at her. - -"It is through some folly of yours," he dropped in a voice of -vitriol. "Women are always foolish. They cannot hold their tongues -or think clearly. Return to Berlin at once. You are not of those -whose conduct I can commend to be trusted in the future." - -He was gone before she could have spoken even if she had dared. -Sobbing gasps caught her breath as she stood and watched him -striding pitilessly and superbly away with, what seemed to her -abject soul, the swing and tread of a martial god. Her streaming -tears tasted salt indeed. She might never see him again--even from -a distance. She would be disgraced and flung aside as a blundering -woman. She had obeyed his every word and done her straining best, -as she had licked the dust at his feet--but he would never cast a -glance at her in the future or utter to her the remotest word of -his high commands. She so reeled as she went her wretched way that -a good-natured policeman said to her as he passed, - -"Steady on, my girl. Best get home and go to bed." - -To Mrs. Gareth-Lawless, it was stated by Coombe that Fraulein -Hirsch had been called back to Germany by family complications. -That august orders should recall Count Von Hillern, was easily -understood. Such magnificent persons never shone upon society for -any length of time. - -That Feather had been making a country home visit when her daughter -had faced tragedy was considered by Lord Coombe as a fortunate -thing. - -"We will not alarm Mrs. Gareth-Lawless by telling her what has -occurred," he said to Mademoiselle Valle. "What we most desire -is that no one shall suspect that the hideous thing took place. A -person who was forgetful or careless might, unintentionally, let -some word escape which--" - -What he meant, and what Mademoiselle Valle knew he meant--also what -he knew she knew he meant--was that a woman, who was a heartless -fool, without sympathy or perception, would not have the delicacy -to feel that the girl must be shielded, and might actually see a -sort of ghastly joke in a story of Mademoiselle Valle's sacrosanct -charge simply walking out of her enshrining arms into such a "galere" -as the most rackety and adventurous of pupils could scarcely have -been led into. Such a point of view would have been quite possible -for Feather--even probable, in the slightly spiteful attitude of -her light mind. - -"She was away from home. Only you and I and Dowie know," answered -Mademoiselle. - -"Let us remain the only persons who know," said Coombe. "Robin -will say nothing." - -They both knew that. She had been feverish and ill for several -days and Dowie had kept her in bed saying that she had caught cold. -Neither of the two women had felt it possible to talk to her. She -had lain staring with a deadly quiet fixedness straight before -her, saying next to nothing. Now and then she shuddered, and once -she broke into a mad, heart-broken fit of crying which she seemed -unable to control. - -"Everything is changed," she said to Dowie and Mademoiselle who -sat on either side of her bed, sometimes pressing her head down -onto a kind shoulder, sometimes holding her hand and patting it. -"I shall be afraid of everybody forever. People who have sweet -faces and kind voices will make me shake all over. Oh! She seemed -so kind--so kind!" - -It was Dowie whose warm shoulder her face hidden on this time, -and Dowie was choked with sobs she dared not let loose. She could -only squeeze hard and kiss the "silk curls all in a heap"--poor, -tumbled curls, no longer a child's! - -"Aye, my lamb!" she managed to say. "Dowie's poor pet lamb!" - -"It's the knowing that kind eyes--kind ones--!" she broke off, -panting. "It's the KNOWING! I didn't know before! I knew nothing. -Now, it's all over. I'm afraid of all the world!" - -"Not all, cherie," breathed Mademoiselle. - -She sat upright against her pillows. The mirror on a dressing -table reflected her image--her blooming tear-wet youth, framed in -the wonderful hair falling a shadow about her. She stared at the -reflection hard and questioningly. - -"I suppose," her voice was pathos itself in its helplessness, "it -is because what you once told me about being pretty, is true. A -girl who looks like THAT," pointing her finger at the glass, "need -not think she can earn her own living. I loathe it," in fierce -resentment at some bitter injustice. "It is like being a person -under a curse!" - -At this Dowie broke down openly and let her tears run fast. "No, -no! You mustn't say it or think it, my dearie!" she wept. "It -might call down a blight on it. You a young thing like a garden -flower! And someone--somewhere--God bless him--that some day'll -glory in it--and you'll glory too. Somewhere he is--somewhere!" - -"Let none of them look at me!" cried Robin. "I loather them, too. -I hate everything--and everybody--but you two--just you two." - -Mademoiselle took her in her arms this time when she sobbed again. -Mademoiselle knew how at this hour it seemed to her that all her -world was laid bare forever more. When the worst of the weeping -was over and she lay quiet, but for the deep catching breaths -which lifted her breast in slow, childish shudders at intervals, -she held Mademoiselle Valle's hand and looked at her with a faint, -wry smile. - -"You were too kind to tell me what a stupid little fool I was when -I talked to you about taking a place in an office!" she said. "I -know now that you would not have allowed me to do the things I -was so sure I could do. It was only my ignorance and conceit. I -can't answer advertisements. Any bad person can say what they choose -in an advertisement. If that woman had advertised, she would have -described Helene. And there was no Helene." One of the shuddering -catches of her breath broke in here. After it, she said, with -a pitiful girlishness of regret: "I--I could SEE Helene. I have -known so few people well enough to love them. No girls at all. I -though--perhaps--we should begin to LOVE each other. I can't bear -to think of that--that she never was alive at all. It leaves a -sort of empty place." - -When she had sufficiently recovered herself to be up again, -Mademoiselle Valle said to her that she wished her to express her -gratitude to Lord Coombe. - -"I will if you wish it," she answered. - -"Don't you feel that it is proper that you should do it? Do you -not wish it yourself?" inquired Mademoiselle. Robin looked down -at the carpet for some seconds. - -"I know," she at last admitted, "that it is proper. But I don't -wish to do it." - -"No?" said Mademoiselle Valle. - -Robin raised her eyes from the carpet and fixed them on her. - -"It is because of--reasons," she said. "It is part of the horror -I want to forget. Even you mayn't know what it has done to me. -Perhaps I am turning into a girl with a bad mind. Bad thoughts keep -swooping down on me--like great black ravens. Lord Coombe saved -me, but I think hideous things about him. I heard Andrews say he -was bad when I was too little to know what it meant. Now, I KNOW, -I remember that HE knew because he chose to know--of his own free -will. He knew that woman and she knew him. HOW did he know her?" -She took a forward step which brought her nearer to Mademoiselle. -"I never told you but I will tell you now," she confessed, "When -the door opened and I saw him standing against the light I--I did -not think he had come to save me." - -"MON DIEU!" breathed Mademoiselle in soft horror. - -"He knows I am pretty. He is an old man but he knows. Fraulein -Hirsch once made me feel actually sick by telling me, in her meek, -sly, careful way, that he liked beautiful girls and the people -said he wanted a young wife and had his eye on me. I was rude to -her because it made me so furious. HOW did he know that woman so -well? You see how bad I have been made!" - -"He knows nearly all Europe. He has seen the dark corners as well -as the bright places. Perhaps he has saved other girls from her. -He brought her to punishment, and was able to do it because he -has been on her track for some time. You are not bad--but unjust. -You have had too great a shock to be able to reason sanely just -yet." - -"I think he will always make me creep a little," said Robin, "but -I will say anything you think I ought to say." - -On an occasion when Feather had gone again to make a visit in the -country, Mademoiselle came into the sitting room with the round -window in which plants grew, and Coombe followed her. Robin looked -up from her book with a little start and then stood up. - -"I have told Lord Coombe that you wish--that I wish you to thank -him," Mademoiselle Valle said. - -"I came on my own part to tell you that any expression of gratitude -is entirely unnecessary," said Coombe. - -"I MUST be grateful. I AM grateful." Robin's colour slowly faded -as she said it. This was the first time she had seen him since he -had supported her down the staircase which mounted to a place of -hell. - -"There is nothing to which I should object so much as being regarded -as a benefactor," he answered definitely, but with entire lack of -warmth. "The role does not suit me. Being an extremely bad man," he -said it as one who speaks wholly without prejudice, "my experience -is wide. I chance to know things. The woman who called herself -Lady Etynge is of a class which--which does not count me among its -clients. I had put certain authorities on her track--which was how -I discovered your whereabouts when Mademoiselle Valle told me that -you had gone to take tea with her. Mere chance you see. Don't be -grateful to me, I beg of you, but to Mademoiselle Valle." - -"Why," faltered Robin, vaguely repelled as much as ever, "did it -matter to you?" - -"Because," he answered--Oh, the cold inhumanness of his gray -eye!--"you happened to live in--this house." - -"I thought that was perhaps the reason," she said--and she felt -that he made her "creep" even a shade more. - -"I beg your pardon," she added, suddenly remembering, "Please sit -down." - -"Thank you," as he sat. "I will because I have something more to -say to you." - -Robin and Mademoiselle seated themselves also and listened. - -"There are many hideous aspects of existence which are not considered -necessary portions of a girl's education," he began. - -"They ought to be," put in Robin, and her voice was as hard as it -was young. - -It was a long and penetrating look he gave her. - -"I am not an instructor of Youth. I have not been called upon to -decide. I do not feel it my duty to go even now into detail." - -"You need not," broke in the hard young voice. "I know everything -in the world. I'm BLACK with knowing." - -"Mademoiselle will discuss that point with you. What you have, -unfortunately, been forced to learn is that it is not safe for a -girl--even a girl without beauty--to act independently of older -people, unless she has found out how to guard herself against--devils." -The words broke from him sharply, with a sudden incongruous hint -of ferocity which was almost startling. "You have been frightened," -he said next, "and you have discovered that there are devils, but -you have not sufficient experience to guard yourself against them." - -"I have been so frightened that I shall be a coward--a coward all -my life. I shall be afraid of every face I see--the more to be -trusted they look, the more I shall fear them. I hate every one -in the world!" - -Her quite wonderful eyes--so they struck Lord Coombe--flamed with -a child's outraged anguish. A thunder shower of tears broke and -rushed down her cheeks, and he rose and, walking quietly to the window -full of flowers, stood with his back to her for a few moments. She -neither cared nor knew whether it was because her hysteric emotion -bored or annoyed him, or because he had the taste to realize that -she would not wish to be looked at. Unhappy youth can feel no law -but its own. - -But all was over during the few moments, and he turned and walked -back to his chair. - -"You want very much to do some work which will insure your entire -independence--to take some situation which will support you without -aid from others? You are not yet prepared to go out and take the -first place which offers. You have been--as you say--too hideously -frightened, and you know there are dangers in wandering about -unguided. Mademoiselle Valle," turning his head, "perhaps you -will tell her what you know of the Duchess of Darte?" - -Upon which, Mademoiselle Valle took hold of her hand and entered -into a careful explanation. - -"She is a great personage of whom there can be no doubt. She -was a lady of the Court. She is of advanced years and an invalid -and has a liking for those who are pretty and young. She desires -a companion who is well educated and young and fresh of mind. The -companion who had been with her for many years recently died. If -you took her place you would live with her in her town house and -go with her to the country after the season. Your salary would -be liberal and no position could be more protected and dignified. -I have seen and talked to her grace myself, and she will allow me -to take you to her, if you desire to go." - -"Do not permit the fact that she has known me for many years -to prejudice you against the proposal," said Coombe. "You might -perhaps regard it rather as a sort of guarantee of my conduct in -the matter. She knows the worst of me and still allows me to retain -her acquaintance. She was brilliant and full of charm when she -was a young woman, and she is even more so now because she is--of -a rarity! If I were a girl and might earn my living in her service, -I should feel that fortune had been good to me--good." - -Robin's eyes turned from one of them to the other--from Coombe to -Mademoiselle Valle, and from Mademoiselle to Coombe pathetically. - -"You--you see--what has been done to me," she said. "A few weeks -ago I should have KNOWN that God was providing for me--taking -care of me. And now--I am still afraid. I feel as if she would see -that--that I am not young and fresh any more but black with evil. -I am afraid of her--I am afraid of you," to Coombe, "and of myself." - -Coombe rose, evidently to go away. - -"But you are not afraid of Mademoiselle Valle," he put it to her. -"She will provide the necessary references for the Duchess. I will -leave her to help you to decide." - -Robin rose also. She wondered if she ought not to hold out her -hand. Perhaps he saw her slight movement. He himself made none. - -"I remember you objected to shaking hands as a child," he said, -with an impersonal civil smile, and the easy punctiliousness of -his bow made it impossible for her to go further. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - - - - -Some days before this the Duchess of Darte had driven out in the -morning to make some purchases and as she had sat in her large -landau she had greatly missed Miss Brent who had always gone with -her when she had made necessary visits to the shops. She was not -fond of shopping and Miss Brent had privately found pleasure in -it which had made her a cheerful companion. To the quiet elderly -woman whose life previous to her service with this great lady had -been spent in struggles with poverty, the mere incident of entering -shops and finding eager salesmen springing forward to meet her -with bows and amiable offers of ministration, was to the end of -her days an almost thrilling thing. The Duchess bought splendidly -though quietly. Knowing always what she wanted, she merely required -that it be produced, and after silently examining it gave orders -that it should be sent to her. There was a dignity in her decision -which was impressive. She never gave trouble or hesitated. The -staffs of employees in the large shops knew and reveled in her -while they figuratively bent the knee. Miss Brent had been a happy -satisfied woman while she had lived. She had died peacefully after -a brief and, as it seemed at first, unalarming illness at one of -her employer's country houses to which she had been amiably sent -down for a holiday. Every kindness and attention had been bestowed -upon her and only a few moments before she fell into her last -sleep she had been talking pleasantly of her mistress. - -"She is a very great lady, Miss Hallam," she had said to her nurse. -"She's the last of her kind I often think. Very great ladies seem -to have gone out--if you know what I mean. They've gone out." - -The Duchess had in fact said of Brent as she stood a few days -later beside her coffin and looked down at her contentedly serene -face, something not unlike what Brent had said of herself. - -"You were a good friend, Brent, my dear," she murmured. "I shall -always miss you. I am afraid there are no more like you left." - -She was thinking of her all the morning as she drove slowly down -to Bond Street and Piccadilly. As she got out of her carriage to -go into a shop she was attracted by some photographs of beauties in -a window and paused to glance at them. Many of them were beauties -whom she knew, but among them were some of society's latest -discoveries. The particular photographs which caught her eye were -two which had evidently been purposely placed side by side for -an interesting reason. The reason was that the two women, while -obviously belonging to periods of some twenty years apart as the -fashion of their dress proved, were in face and form so singularly -alike that they bewilderingly suggested that they were the same -person. Both were exquisitely nymphlike, fair and large eyed and -both had the fine light hair which is capable of forming itself -into a halo. The Duchess stood and looked at them for the moment -spell-bound. She slightly caught her breath. She was borne back so -swiftly and so far. Her errand in the next door shop was forgotten. -She went into the one which displayed the photographs. - -"I wish to look at the two photographs which are so much alike," -she said to the man behind the counter. - -He knew her as most people did and brought forth the photographs -at once. - -"Many people are interested in them, your grace," he said. "It was -the amazing likeness which made me put them beside each other." - -"Yes," she answered. "It is almost incredible." She looked up -from the beautiful young being dressed in the mode of twenty years -past. - -"This is--WAS--?" she corrected herself and paused. The man -replied in a somewhat dropped voice. He evidently had his reasons -for feeling it discreet to do so. - -"Yes--WAS. She died twenty years ago. The young Princess Alixe of -X--" he said. "There was a sad story, your grace no doubt remembers. -It was a good deal talked about." - -"Yes," she replied and said no more, but took up the modern -picture. It displayed the same almost floating airiness of type, -but in this case the original wore diaphanous wisps of spangled -tulle threatening to take wings and fly away leaving the girl -slimness of arms and shoulders bereft of any covering whatsoever. - -"This one is--?" she questioned. - -"A Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. A widow with a daughter though she looks -in her teens. She's older than the Princess was, but she's kept -her beauty as ladies know how to in these days. It's wonderful to -see them side by side. But it's only a few that saw her Highness -as she was the season she came with the Prince to visit at Windsor -in Queen Victoria's day. Did your grace--" he checked himself -feeling that he was perhaps somewhat exceeding Bond Street limits. - -"Yes. I saw her," said the Duchess. "If these are for sale I will -take them both." - -"I'm selling a good many of them. People buy them because the -likeness makes them a sort of curiosity. Mrs. Gareth-Lawless is -a very modern lady and she is quite amused." - -The Duchess took the two photographs home with her and looked at -them a great deal afterwards as she sat in her winged chair. - -They were on her table when Coombe came to drink tea with her in -the afternoon. - -When he saw them he stood still and studied the two faces silently -for several seconds. - -"Did you ever see a likeness so wonderful?" he said at last. - -"Never," she answered. "Or an unlikeness. That is the most wonderful -of all--the unlikeness. It is the same body inhabited by two souls -from different spheres." - -His next words were spoken very slowly. - -"I should have been sure you would see that," he commented. - -"I lost my breath for a second when I saw them side by side in the -shop window--and the next moment I lost it again because I saw--what -I speak of--the utter world wide apartness. It is in their eyes. -She--," she touched the silver frame enclosing the young Princess, -"was a little saint--a little spirit. There never was a young -human thing so transparently pure." - -The rigid modeling of his face expressed a thing which, himself -recognizing its presence, he chose to turn aside as he moved towards -the mantel and leaned on it. The same thing caused his voice to -sound hoarse and low as he spoke in answer, saying something she -had not expected him to say. Its unexpectedness in fact produced -in her an effect of shock. - -"And she was the possession of a brute incarnate, mad with unbridled -lust and drink and abnormal furies. She was a child saint, and -shook with terror before him. He killed her." - -"I believe he did," she said unsteadily after a breath space of -pause. "Many people believed so though great effort was made to -silence the stories. But there were too many stories and they were -so unspeakable that even those in high places were made furiously -indignant. He was not received here at Court afterwards. His own -emperor could not condone what he did. Public opinion was too -strong." - -"The stories were true," answered the hoarse low voice. "I myself, -by royal command, was a guest at the Schloss in the Bavarian Alps -when it was known that he struck her repeatedly with a dog whip. -She was going to have a child. One night I was wandering in the -park in misery and I heard shrieks which sent me in mad search. -I do not know what I should have done if I had succeeded, but I -tried to force an entrance into the wing from which the shrieks -came. I was met and stopped almost by open violence. The sounds -ceased. She died a week later. But the most experienced lying could -not hide some things. Even royal menials may have human blood in -their veins. It was known that there were hideous marks on her -little dead body." - -"We heard. We heard," whispered the Duchess. - -"He killed her. But she would have died of horror if he had not -struck her a blow. She began to die from the hour the marriage -was forced upon her. I saw that when she was with him at Windsor." - -"You were in attendance on him," the Duchess said after a little -silence. "That was when I first knew you." - -"Yes." She had added the last sentence gravely and his reply was -as grave though his voice was still hoarse. "You were sublime -goodness and wisdom. When a woman through the sheer quality of -her silence saves a man from slipping over the verge of madness -he does not forget. While I was sane I dared scarcely utter her -name. If I had gone mad I should have raved as madmen do. For that -reason I was afraid." - -"I knew. Speech was the greatest danger," she answered him. "She -was a princess of a royal house--poor little angel--and she had -a husband whose vileness and violence all Europe knew. How DARED -they give her to him?" - -"For reasons of their own and because she was too humbly innocent -and obedient to rebel." - -The Duchess did not ask questions. The sublime goodness of which -he had spoken had revealed its perfection through the fact that -in the long past days she had neither questioned nor commented. -She had given her strong soul's secret support to him and in his -unbearable hours he had known that when he came to her for refuge, -while she understood his need to the uttermost, she would speak -no word even to himself. - -But today though she asked no question her eyes waited upon him -as it were. This was because she saw that for some unknown reason -a heavy veil had rolled back from the past he had chosen to keep -hidden even from himself, as it were, more than from others. - -"Speech is always the most dangerous thing," he said. "Only the -silence of years piled one upon the other will bury unendurable -things. Even thought must be silenced. I have lived a lifetime -since--" his words began to come very slowly--as she listened she -felt as if he were opening a grave and drawing from its depths -long buried things, "--since the night when I met her alone in a -wood in the park of the Schloss and--lost hold of myself--lost it -utterly." - -The Duchess' withered hands caught each other in a clasp which -was almost like a passionate exclamation. - -"There was such a night. And I was young--young--not an iron bound -vieillard then. When one is young one's anguish is the Deluge -which ends the world forever. I had lain down and risen up and -spent every hour in growing torture for months. I had been forced -to bind myself down with bands of iron. When I found myself, without -warning, face to face with her, alone in the night stillness of -the wood, the bands broke. She had dared to creep out in secret -to hide herself and her heartbroken terror in the silence and -darkness alone. I knew it without being told. I knew and I went -quite mad for the time. I was only a boy. I threw myself face -downward on the earth and sobbed, embracing her young feet." - -Both of them were quite silent for a few moments before he went -on. - -"She was not afraid," he said, even with something which was like -a curious smile of tender pity at the memory. "Afterwards--when I -stood near her, trembling--she even took my hand and held it. Once -she kissed it humbly like a little child while her tears rained -down. Never before was there anything as innocently heartbreaking. -She was so piteously grateful for love of any kind and so heart -wrung by my misery." - -He paused again and looked down at the carpet, thinking. Then he -looked up at her directly. - -"I need not explain to you. You will know. I was twenty-five. My -heart was pounding in my side, my blood thudded through my veins. -Every atom of natural generous manhood in my being was wild with -fury at the brutal wrong done her exquisiteness. And she--" - -"She was a young novice fresh from a convent and very pious," the -Duchess' quiet voice put in. - -"You understand," he answered. "She knelt down and prayed for -her own soul as well as mine. She thanked God that I was kind and -would forgive her and go away--and only remember her in my prayers. -She believed it was possible. It was not, but I kissed the hem of -her white dress and left her standing alone--a little saint in a -woodland shrine. That was what I thought deliriously as I staggered -off. It was the next night that I heard her shrieks. Then she -died." - -The Duchess knew what else had died--the high adventure of youth -and joy of life in him, the brilliant spirit which had been himself -and whose utter withdrawal from his being had left him as she had -seen him on his return to London in those days which now seemed -a memory of a past life in a world which had passed also. He had -appeared before her late one afternoon and she had for a moment -been afraid to look at him because she was struck to the depths of -her being by a sense of seeing before her a body which had broken -the link holding it to life and walked the earth, the crowded -streets, the ordinary rooms where people gathered, a dead thing. -Even while it moved it gazed out of dead eyes. And the years had -passed and though they had been friends he had never spoken until -now. - -"Such a thing must be buried in a tomb covered with a heavy stone -and with a seal set upon it. I am unsealing a tomb," he said. Then -after a silence he added, "I have, of cause, a reason." She bent -her head because she had known this must be the case. - -"There is a thing I wish you to understand. Every woman could -not." - -"I shall understand." - -"Because I know you will I need not enter into exact detail. You -will not find what I say abnormal." - -There had been several pauses during his relation. Once or twice -he had stopped in the middle of a sentence as if for calmer breath -or to draw himself back from a past which had suddenly become again -a present of torment too great to face with modern steadiness. He -took breath so to speak in this manner again. - -"The years pass, the agony of being young passes. One slowly -becomes another man," he resumed. "I am another man. I could not -be called a creature of sentiment. I have given myself interests -in existence--many of them. But the sealed tomb is under one's feet. -Not to allow oneself to acknowledge its existence consciously is -one's affair. But--the devil of chance sometimes chooses to play -tricks. Such a trick was played on me." - -He glanced down at the two pictures at which she herself was looking -with grave eyes. It was the photograph of Feather he took up and -set a strange questioning gaze upon. - -"When I saw this," he said, "this--exquisitely smiling at me under -a green tree in a sunny garden--the tomb opened under my feet, -and I stood on the brink of it--twenty-five again." - -"You cannot possibly put it into words," the Duchess said. "You -need not. I know." For he had become for the moment almost livid. -Even to her who so well knew him it was a singular thing to see -him hastily set down the picture and touch his forehead with his -handkerchief. - -She knew he was about to tell her his reason for this unsealing -of the tomb. When he sat down at her table he did so. He did not -use many phrases, but in making clear his reasons he also made -clear to her certain facts which most persons would have ironically -disbelieved. But no shadow of a doubt passed through her mind -because she had through a long life dwelt interestedly on the many -variations in human type. She was extraordinarily interested when -he ended with the story of Robin. - -"I do not know exactly why 'it matters to me'--I am quoting her -mother," he explained, "but it happens that I am determined to -stand between the child and what would otherwise be the inevitable. -It is not that she has the slightest resemblance to--to anyone--which -might awaken memory. It is not that. She and her mother are of -totally different types. And her detestation of me is unconquerable. -She believes me to be the worst of men. When I entered the room -into which the woman had trapped her, she thought that I came as -one of the creature's damnable clients. You will acknowledge that -my position presents difficulties in the way of explanation to -a girl--to most adults in fact. Her childish frenzy of desire -to support herself arises from her loathing of the position of -accepting support from me. I sympathize with her entirely." - -"Mademoiselle Valle is an intelligent woman," the Duchess said as -though thinking the matter out. "Send her to me and we will talk -the matter over. Then she can bring the child." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - - - - -As a result of this, her grace saw Mademoiselle Valle alone -a few mornings later and talked to her long and quietly. Their -comprehension of each other was complete. Before their interview -was at an end the Duchess' interest in the adventure she was about -to enter into had become profound. - -"The sooner she is surrounded by a new atmosphere, the better," -was one of the things the Frenchwoman had said. "The prospect of -an arrangement so perfect and so secure fills me with the profoundest -gratitude. It is absolutely necessary that I return to my parents -in Belgium. They are old and failing in health and need me greatly. -I have been sad and anxious for months because I felt that it -would be wickedness to desert this poor child. I have been torn -in two. Now I can be at peace--thank the good God." - -"Bring her to me tomorrow if possible," the Duchess said when -they parted. "I foresee that I may have something to overcome in -the fact that I am Lord Coombe's old friend, but I hope to be able -to overcome it." - -"She is a baby--she is of great beauty--she has a passionate little -soul of which she knows nothing." Mademoiselle Valle said it with -an anxious reflectiveness. "I have been afraid. If I were her -mother----" her eyes sought those of the older woman. - -"But she has no mother," her grace answered. Her own eyes were -serious. She knew something of girls, of young things, of the rush -and tumult of young life in them and of the outlet it demanded. A -baby who was of great beauty and of a passionate soul was no trivial -undertaking for a rheumatic old duchess, but--"Bring her to me," -she said. - -So was Robin brought to the tall Early Victorian mansion in the -belatedly stately square. And the chief thought in her mind was -that though mere good manners demanded under the circumstances that -she should come to see the Dowager Duchess of Darte and be seen -by her, if she found that she was like Lord Coombe, she would not -be able to endure the prospect of a future spent in her service -howsoever desirable such service might outwardly appear. This -desirableness Mademoiselle Valle had made clear to her. She was -to be the companion of a personage of great and mature charm and -grace who desired not mere attendance, but something more, which -something included the warmth and fresh brightness of happy youth -and bloom. She would do for her employer the things a young -relative might do. She would have a suite of rooms of her own and -a freedom as to hours and actions which greater experience on her -part would have taught was not the customary portion meted out -to a paid companion. But she knew nothing of paid service and a -preliminary talk of Coombe's with Mademoiselle Valle had warned -her against allowing any suspicion that this "earning a living" -had been too obviously ameliorated. - -"Her life is unusual. She herself is unusual in a most dignified -and beautiful way. You will, it might almost be said, hold the -position of a young lady in waiting," was Mademoiselle's gracefully -put explanation. - -When, after they had been ushered into the room where her grace -sat in her beautiful and mellow corner by the fire, Robin advanced -towards the highbacked chair, what the old woman was chiefly -conscious of was the eyes which seemed all lustrous iris. There was -uncommon appeal and fear in them. The blackness of their setting -of up-curled lashes made them look babyishly wide. - -"Mademoiselle Valle has told me of your wish to take a position -as companion," the Duchess said after they were seated. - -"I want very much," said Robin, "to support myself and Mademoiselle -thinks that I might fill such a place if I am not considered too -young." - -"You are not too young--for me. I want something young to come and -befriend me. Am I too old for YOU?" Her smile had been celebrated -fifty years earlier and it had not changed. A smile does not. She -was not like Lord Coombe in any degree however remote. She did -not belong to his world, Robin thought. - -"If I can do well enough the things you require done," she answered -blushing her Jacqueminot rose blush, "I shall be grateful if you -will let me try to do them. Mademoiselle will tell you that I have -no experience, but that I am one who tries well." - -"Mademoiselle has answered all my questions concerning your -qualifications so satisfactorily that I need ask you very few." - -Such questions as she asked were not of the order Robin had -expected. She led her into talk and drew Mademoiselle Valle into the -conversation. It was talk which included personal views of books, -old gardens and old houses, people, pictures and even--lightly--politics. -Robin found herself quite incidentally, as it were, reading aloud -to her an Italian poem. She ceased to be afraid and was at ease. -She forgot Lord Coombe. The Duchess listening and watching her -warmed to her task of delicate investigation and saw reason for -anticipating agreeably stimulating things. She was not taking upon -herself a merely benevolent duty which might assume weight and -become a fatigue. In fact she might trust Coombe for that. After -all it was he who had virtually educated the child--little as she -was aware of the singular fact. It was he who had dragged her -forth from her dog kennel of a top floor nursery and quaintly -incongruous as it seemed, had found her a respectable woman for a -nurse and an intelligent person for a governess and companion as -if he had been a domesticated middle class widower with a little -girl to play mother to. She saw in the situation more than others -would have seen in it, but she saw also the ironic humour of it. -Coombe--with the renowned cut of his overcoat--the perfection of -his line and scarcely to be divined suggestions of hue--Coombe! - -She did not avoid all mention of his name during the interview, but -she spoke of him only casually, and though the salary she offered -was an excellent one, it was not inordinate. Robin could not feel -that she was not being accepted as of the class of young persons -who support themselves self-respectingly, though even the most -modest earned income would have represented wealth to her ignorance. - -Before they parted she had obtained the position so pleasantly -described by Mademoiselle Valle as being something like that of -a young lady in waiting. "But I am really a companion and I will -do everything--everything I can so that I shall be worth keeping," -she thought seriously. She felt that she should want to be kept. -If Lord Coombe was a friend of her employer's it was because the -Duchess did not know what others knew. And her house was not his -house--and the hideous thing she had secretly loathed would be at -an end. She would be supporting herself as decently and honestly -as Mademoiselle or Dowie had supported themselves all their lives. - -With an air of incidentally recalling a fact, the Duchess said -after they had risen to leave her: - -"Mademoiselle Valle tells me you have an elderly nurse you are -very fond of. She seems to belong to a class of servants almost -extinct." - -"I love her," Robin faltered--because the sudden reminder brought -back a pang to her. There was a look in her eyes which faltered -also. "She loves me. I don't know how----" but there she stopped. - -"Such women are very valuable to those who know the meaning of -their type. I myself am always in search of it. My dear Miss Brent -was of it, though of a different class." - -"But most people do not know," said Robin. "It seems old-fashioned -to them--and it's beautiful! Dowie is an angel." - -"I should like to secure your Dowie for my housekeeper and -myself,"--one of the greatest powers of the celebrated smile was -its power to convince. "A competent person is needed to take charge -of the linen. If we can secure an angel we shall be fortunate." - -A day or so later she said to Coombe in describing the visit. - -"The child's face is wonderful. If you could but have seen her -eyes when I said it. It is not the mere beauty of size and shape -and colour which affect one. It is something else. She is a little -flame of feeling." - -The "something else" was in the sound of her voice as she answered. - -"She will be in the same house with me! Sometimes perhaps I may -see her and talk to her! Oh! how GRATEFUL I am!" She might even -see and talk to her as often as she wished, it revealed itself -and when she and Mademoiselle got into their hansom cab to drive -away, she caught at the Frenchwoman's hand and clung to it, her -eyelashes wet, - -"It is as if there MUST be Goodness which takes care of one," she -said. "I used to believe in it so--until I was afraid of all the -world. Dowie means most of all. I did now know how I could bear -to let her go away. And since her husband and her daughter died, -she has no one but me. I should have had no one but her if you -had gone back to Belgium, Mademoiselle. And now she will be safe -in the same house with me. Perhaps the Duchess will keep her until -she dies. I hope she will keep me until I die. I will be as good -and faithful as Dowie and perhaps the Duchess will live until I -am quite old--and not pretty any more. And I will make economies -as you have made them, Mademoiselle, and save all my salary--and -I might be able to end my days in a little cottage in the country." - -Mademoiselle was conscious of an actual physical drag at her -heartstrings. The pulsating glow of her young loveliness had never -been more moving and oh! the sublime certainty of her unconsciousness -that Life lay between this hour and that day when she was "quite -old and not pretty any more" and having made economies could die -in a little cottage in the country! She believed in her vision as -she had believed that Donal would come to her in the garden. - -Upon Feather the revelation that her daughter had elected to -join the ranks of girls who were mysteriously determined to be -responsible for themselves produced a curious combination of effects. -It was presented to her by Lord Coombe in the form of a simple -impersonal statement which had its air of needing no explanation. -She heard it with eyes widening a little and a smile slowly growing. -Having heard, she broke into a laugh, a rather high-pitched treble -laugh. - -"Really?" she said. "She is really going to do it? To take a -situation! She wants to be independent and 'live her own life!' -What a joke--for a girl of mine!" She was either really amused or -chose to seem so. - -"What do YOU think of it?" she asked when she stopped laughing. -Her eyes had curiosity in them. - -"I like it," he answered. - -"Of course. I ought to have remembered that you helped her to an -Early Victorian duchess. She's one without a flaw--the Dowager -Duchess of Darte. 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. "She's not eighteen and she's a beauty and -she's taken up by a perfectly decent old duchess. She'll have -EVERYTHING! The Dowager will marry her to someone important. You'll -help," she turned on him in a flame of temper. "You are capable -of marrying her yourself!" There was a a brief but entire silence. -It was broken by his saying, - -"She is not capable of marrying ME." - -There was brief but entire silence again, and it was he who again -broke it, his manner at once cool and reasonable. - -"It is better not to exhibit this kind of feeling. Let us be quite -frank. There are few things you feel more strongly than that you do -not want your daughter in the house. When she was a child you told -me that you detested the prospect of having her on your hands. -She is being disposed of in the most easily explained and enviable -manner." - -"It's true--it's true," Feather murmured. She began to see advantages -and the look of a little cat died out, or at least modified itself -into that of a little cat upon whom dawned prospects of cream. No -mood ever held her very long. "She won't come back to stay," she -said. "The Duchess won't let her. I can use her rooms and I shall -be very glad to have them. There's at least some advantage in -figuring as a sort of Dame Aux Camelias." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - - - - -The night before Robin went away as she sat alone in the dimness -of one light, thinking as girls nearly always sit and think on -the eve of a change, because to youth any change seems to mean -the final closing as well as the opening of ways, the door of -her room was opened and an exquisite and nymphlike figure in pale -green stood exactly where the rays of the reading lamp seemed -to concentrate themselves in an effort to reveal most purely its -delicately startling effect. It was her mother in a dress whose -spring-like tint made her a sort of slim dryad. She looked so pretty -and young that Robin caught her breath as she rose and went forward. - -"It is your aged parent come to give you her blessing," said -Feather. - -"I was wondering if I might come to your room in the morning," -Robin answered. - -Feather seated herself lightly. She was not intelligent enough to -have any real comprehension of the mood which had impelled her to -come. She had merely given way to a secret sense of resentment of -something which annoyed her. She knew, however, why she had put -on the spring-leaf green dress which made her look like a girl. -She was not going to let Robin feel as if she were receiving a -visit from her grandmother. She had got that far. - -"We don't know each other at all, do we?" she said. - -"No," answered Robin. She could not remove her eyes from her -loveliness. She brought up such memories of the Lady Downstairs -and the desolate child in the shabby nursery. - -"Mothers are not as intimate with their daughters as they used -to be when it was a sort of virtuous fashion to superintend their -rice pudding and lecture them about their lessons. We have not -seen each other often." - -"No," said Robin. - -Feather's laugh had again the rather high note Coombe had noticed. - -"You haven't very much to say, have you?" she commented. "And you -stare at me as if you were trying to explain me. I dare say you -know that you have big eyes and that they're a good colour, but -I may as well hint to you that men do not like to be stared at as -if their deeps were being searched. Drop your eyelids." - -Robin's lids dropped in spite of herself because she was startled, -but immediately she was startled again by a note in her mother's -voice--a note of added irritation. - -"Don't make a habit of dropping them too often," it broke out, "or -it will look as if you did it to show your eyelashes. Girls with -tricks of that sort are always laughed at. Alison Carr LIVES -sideways became she has a pretty profile." - -Coombe would have recognized the little cat look, if he had been -watching her as she leaned back in her chair and scrutinized her -daughter. The fact was that she took in her every point, being an -astute censor of other women's charms. - -"Stand up," she said. - -Robin stood up because she could not well refuse to do so, but -she coloured because she was suddenly ashamed. - -"You're not little, but you're not tall," her mother said. "That's -against you. It's the fashion for women to be immensely tall -now. Du Maurier's pictures in Punch and his idiotic Trilby did it. -Clothes are made for giantesses. I don't care about it myself, but -a girl's rather out of it if she's much less than six feet high. -You can sit down." - -A more singular interview between mother and daughter had assuredly -rarely taken place. As she looked at the girl her resentment of her -increased each moment. She actually felt as if she were beginning -to lose her temper. - -"You are what pious people call 'going out into the world'," she -went on. "In moral books mothers always give advice and warnings -to their girls when they're leaving them. I can give you some -warnings. You think that because you have been taken up by a -dowager duchess everything will be plain sailing. You're mistaken. -You think because you are eighteen and pretty, men will fall at -your feet." - -"I would rather be hideous," cried suddenly passionate Robin. "I -HATE men!" - -The silly pretty thing who was responsible for her being, grew -sillier as her irritation increased. - -"That's what girls always pretend, but the youngest little idiot -knows it isn't true. It's men who count. It makes me laugh when -I think of them--and of you. You know nothing about them and they -know everything about you. A clever man can do anything he pleases -with a silly girl." - -"Are they ALL bad?" Robin exclaimed furiously. - -"They're none of them bad. They're only men. And that's my warning. -Don't imagine that when they make love to you they do it as if -you were the old Duchess' granddaughter. You will only be her paid -companion and that's a different matter." - -"I will not speak to one of them----" Robin actually began. - -"You'll be obliged to do what the Duchess tells you to do," laughed -Feather, as she realized her obvious power to dull the glitter -and glow of things which she had felt the girl must be dazzled -and uplifted unduly by. She was rather like a spiteful schoolgirl -entertaining herself by spoiling an envied holiday for a companion. -"Old men will run after you and you will have to be nice to them -whether you like it or not." A queer light came into her eyes. -"Lord Coombe is fond of girls just out of the schoolroom. But if -he begins to make love to you don't allow yourself to feel too -much flattered." - -Robin sprang toward her. - -"Do you think I don't ABHOR Lord Coombe!" she cried out forgetting -herself in the desperate cruelty of the moment. "Haven't I reason----" -but there she remembered and stopped. - -But Feather was not shocked or alarmed. Years of looking things -in the face had provided her with a mental surface from which -tilings rebounded. On the whole it even amused her and "suited -her book" that Robin should take this tone. - -"Oh! I suppose you mean you know he admires me and pays bills for -me. Where would you have been if he hadn't done it? He's been a -sort of benefactor." - -"I know nothing but that even when I was a little child I could -not bear to touch his hand!" cried Robin. Then Feather remembered -several things she had almost forgotten and she was still more -entertained. - -"I believe you've not forgotten through all these years that the -boy you fell so indecently in love with was taken away by his -mother because Lord Coombe was YOUR mother's admirer and he was -such a sinner that even a baby was contaminated by him! Donal -Muir is a young man by this time. I wonder what his mother would -do now if he turned up at your mistress' house--that's what she -is, you know, your mistress--and began to make love to you." She -laughed outright. "You'll get into all sorts of messes, but that -would be the nicest one!" - -Robin could only stand and gaze at her. Her moment's fire had died -down. Without warning, out of the past a wave rose and overwhelmed -her then and there. It bore with it the wild woe of the morning -when a child had waited in the spring sun and her world had fallen -into nothingness. It came back--the broken-hearted anguish, the -utter helpless desolation, as if she stood in the midst of it -again, as if it had never passed. It was a re-incarnation. She -could not bear it. - -"Do you hate me--as I hate Lord Coombe?" she cried out. "Do you WANT -unhappy things to happen to me? Oh! Mother, why!" She had never -said "Mother" before. Nature said it for her here. The piteous -appeal of her youth and lonely young rush of tears was almost -intolerably sweet. Through some subtle cause it added to the thing -in her which Feather resented and longed to trouble and to hurt. - -"You are a spiteful little cat!" she sprang up to exclaim, standing -close and face to face with her. "You think I am an old thing -and that I'm jealous of you! Because you're pretty and a girl you -think women past thirty don't count. You'll find out. 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. - -"I must learn to remember always that I am a sort of servant. -I must be very careful. It will be easier for me to realize that -I am not in my own house than it would be for other girls. I have -not allowed Dowie to dress me for a good many weeks. I have learned -how to do everything for myself quite well." - -"But Dowie will be in the house with you and the Duchess is very -kind." - -"Every night I have begun my prayers by thanking God for leaving -me Dowie," the girl said. "I have begun them and ended them with -the same words." She looked about her and then broke out as if -involuntarily. "I shall be away from here. I shall not wear anything -or eat anything or sleep on any bed I have not paid for myself." - -"These rooms are very pretty. We have been very comfortable -here," Mademoiselle said. Suddenly she felt that if she waited a -few moments she would know definitely things she had previously -only guessed at. "Have you no little regrets?" - -"No," answered Robin, "No." - -She stood upon the hearth with her hands behind her. Mademoiselle -felt as if her fingers were twisting themselves together and the -Frenchwoman was peculiarly moved by the fact that she looked like -a slim jeune fille of a creature saying a lesson. The lesson opened -in this wise. - -"I don't know when I first began to know that I was different from -all other children," she said in a soft, hot voice--if a voice -can express heat. "Perhaps a child who has nothing--nothing--is -obliged to begin to THINK before it knows what thoughts are. If -they play and are loved and amused they have no time for anything -but growing and being happy. You never saw the dreadful little -rooms upstairs----" - -"Dowie has told me of them," said Mademoiselle. - -"Another child might have forgotten them. I never shall. I--I was -so little and they were full of something awful. It was loneliness. -The first time Andrews pinched me was one day when the thing -frightened me and I suddenly began to cry quite loud. I used -to stare out of the window and--I don't know when I noticed it -first--I could see the children being taken out by their nurses. -And there were always two or three of them and they laughed and -talked and skipped. The nurses used to laugh and talk too. Andrews -never did. When she took me to the gardens the other nurses sat -together and chattered and their children played games with other -children. Once a little girl began to talk to me and her nurse -called her away. Andrews was very angry and jerked me by my arm -and told me that if ever I spoke to a child again she would pinch -me." - -"Devil!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman. - -"I used to think and think, but I could never understand. How -could I?" - -"A baby!" cried Mademoiselle Valle and she got up and took her in -her arms and kissed her. "Chere petite ange!" she murmured. When -she sat down again her cheeks were wet. Robin's were wet also, but -she touched them with her handkerchief quickly and dried them. It -was as if she had faltered for a moment in her lesson. - -"Did Dowie ever tell you anything about Donal?" she asked -hesitatingly. - -"Something. He was the little boy you played with?" - -"Yes. He was the first human creature," she said it very slowly -as if trying to find the right words to express what she meant, -"--the first HUMAN creature I had ever known. You see Mademoiselle, -he--he knew everything. He had always been happy, he BELONGED -to people and things. I belonged to nobody and nothing. If I had -been like him he would not have seemed so wonderful to me. I was -in a kind of delirium of joy. If a creature who had been deaf dumb -and blind had suddenly awakened, and seeing on a summer day in a -world full of flowers and sun--it might have seemed to them as it -seemed to me." - -"You have remembered it through all the years," said Mademoiselle, -"like that?" - -"It was the first time I became alive. One could not forget it. -We only played as children play but--it WAS a delirium of joy. I -could not bear to go to sleep at night and forget it for a moment. -Yes, I remember it--like that. There is a dream I have every now -and then and it is more real than--than this is--" with a wave of -her hand about her. "I am always in a real garden playing with -a real Donal. And his eyes--his eyes--" she paused and thought, -"There is a look in them that is like--it is just like--that first -morning." - -The change which passed over her face the next moment might have -been said to seem to obliterate all trace of the childish memory. - -"He was taken away by his mother. That was the beginning of my -finding out," she said. "I heard Andrews talking to her sister and -in a baby way I gathered that Lord Coombe had sent him. I hated -Lord Coombe for years before I found out that he hadn't--and -that there was another reason. After that it took time to puzzle -things out and piece them together. But at last I found out what -the reason had been. Then I began to make plans. These are not my -rooms," glancing about her again, "--these are not my clothes," -with a little pull at her dress. "I'm not 'a strong character', -Mademoiselle, as I wanted to be, but I haven't one little regret--not -one." She kneeled down and put her arms round her old friend's -waist, lifting her face. "I'm like a leaf blown about by the -wind. I don't know what it will do with me. Where do leaves go? -One never knows really." - -She put her face down on Mademoiselle's knee then and cried with -soft bitterness. - -When she bade her good-bye at Charing Cross Station and stood and -watched the train until it was quite out of sight, afterwards she -went back to the rooms for which she felt no regrets. And before -she went to bed that night Feather came and gave her farewell -maternal advice and warning. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - - - - -That a previously scarcely suspected daughter of Mrs. Gareth-Lawless -had become a member of the household of the Dowager Duchess of -Darte stirred but a passing wave of interest in a circle which was -not that of Mrs. Gareth-Lawless herself and which upon the whole -but casually acknowledged its curious existence as a modern -abnormality. Also the attitude of the Duchess herself was composedly -free from any admission of necessity for comment. - -"I have no pretty young relative who can be spared to come and -live with me. I am fond of things pretty and young and I am greatly -pleased with what a kind chance put in my way," she said. In her -discussion of the situation with Coombe she measured it with her -customary fine acumen. - -"Forty years ago it could not have been done. The girl would have -been made uncomfortable and outside things could not have been -prevented from dragging themselves in. Filial piety in the mass -would have demanded that the mother should be accounted for. Now -a genial knowledge of a variety in mothers leaves Mrs. Gareth-Lawless -to play about with her own probably quite amusing set. Once poor -Robin would have been held responsible for her and so should I. My -position would have seemed to defy serious moral issues. But we -have reached a sane habit of detaching people from their relations. -A nice condition we should be in if we had not." - -"You, of course, know that Henry died suddenly in some sort of -fit at Ostend." Coombe said it as if in a form of reply. She had -naturally become aware of it when the rest of the world did, but -had not seen him since the event. - -"One did not suppose his constitution would have lasted so long," -she answered. "You are more fortunate in young Donal Muir. Have -you seen him and his mother?" - -"I made a special journey to Braemarnie and had a curious interview -with Mrs. Muir. When I say 'curious' I don't mean to imply that it -was not entirely dignified. It was curious only because I realize -that secretly she regards with horror and dread the fact that her -boy is the prospective Head of the House of Coombe. She does not -make a jest of it as I have had the temerity to do. It's a cheap -defense, this trick of making an eternal jest of things, but it -IS a defense and one has formed the habit." - -"She has never done it--Helen Muir," his friend said. "On the -whole I believe she at times knows that she has been too grave. -She was a beautiful creature passionately in love with her husband. -When such a husband is taken away from such a woman and his child -is left it often happens that the flood of her love is turned into -one current and that it is almost overwhelming. She is too sane -to have coddled the boy and made him effeminate--what has she done -instead?" - -"He is a splendid young Highlander. He would be too good-looking -if he were not as strong and active as a young stag. All she has -done is to so fill him with the power and sense of her charm that -he has not seen enough of the world or learned to care for it. She -is the one woman on earth for him and life with her at Braemarnie -is all he asks for." - -"Your difficulty will be that she will not be willing to trust -him to your instructions." - -"I have not as much personal vanity as I may seem to have," Coombe -said. "I put all egotism modestly aside when I talked to her and -tried to explain that I would endeavour to see that he came to no -harm in my society. My heir presumptive and I must see something -of each other and he must become intimate with the prospect of -his responsibilities. More will be demanded of the next Marquis -of Coombe than has been demanded of me. And it will be DEMANDED -not merely hoped for or expected. And it will be the overwhelming -forces of Fate which will demand it--not mere tenants or constituents -or the general public." - -"Have you any views as to WHAT will be demanded?" was her interested -question. - -"None. Neither has anyone else who shares my opinion. No one will -have any until the readjustment comes. But before the readjustment -there will be the pouring forth of blood--the blood of magnificent -lads like Donal Muir--perhaps his own blood,--my God!" - -"And there may be left no head of the house of Coombe," from the -Duchess. - -"There will be many a house left without its head--houses great -and small. And if the peril of it were more generally foreseen at -this date it would be less perilous than it is." - -"Lads like that!" said the old Duchess bitterly. "Lads in their -strength and joy and bloom! It is hideous." - -"In all their young virility and promise for a next generation--the -strong young fathers of forever unborn millions! It's damnable! -And it will be so not only in England, but all over a blood drenched -world." - -It was in this way they talked to each other of the black tragedy -for which they believed the world's stage already being set in -secret, and though there were here and there others who felt the -ominous inevitability of the raising of the curtain, the rest of -the world looked on in careless indifference to the significance of -the open training of its actors and even the resounding hammerings -of its stage carpenters and builders. In these days the two -discussed the matter more frequently and even in the tone of those -who waited for the approach of a thing drawing nearer every day. - -Each time the Head of the House of Coombe made one of his so-called -"week end" visits to the parts an Englishman can reach only by -crossing the Channel, he returned with new knowledge of the special -direction in which the wind veered in the blowing of those straws -he had so long observed with absorbed interest. - -"Above all the common sounds of daily human life one hears in that -one land the rattle and clash of arms and the unending thudding -tread of marching feet," he said after one such visit. "Two -generations of men creatures bred and born and trained to live as -parts of a huge death dealing machine have resulted in a monstrous -construction. Each man is a part of it and each part's greatest -ambition is to respond to the shouted word of command as a -mechanical puppet responds to the touch of a spring. To each unit -of the millions, love of his own country means only hatred of all -others and the belief that no other should be allowed existence. -The sacred creed of each is that the immensity of Germany is such -that there can be no room on the earth for another than itself. -Blood and iron will clear the world of the inferior peoples. To -the masses that is their God's will. Their God is an understudy -of their Kaiser." - -"You are not saying that as part of the trick of making a jest of -things?" - -"I wish to God I were. The poor huge inhuman thing he has built -does not know that when he was a boy he did not play at war and -battles as other boys do, but as a creature obsessed. He has played -at soldiers with his people as his toys throughout all his morbid -life--and he has hungered and thirsted as he has done it." - -A Bible lay upon the table and the Duchess drew it towards her. - -"There is a verse here--" she said "--I will find it." She turned -the pages and found it. "Listen! 'Know this and lay it to thy -heart this day. Jehovah is God in heaven above and on the earth -beneath. There is none else.' That is a power which does not -confine itself to Germany or to England or France or to the Map of -Europe. It is the Law of the Universe--and even Wilhelm the Second -cannot bend it to his almighty will. 'There is none else.'" - -"'There is none else'," repeated Coombe slowly. "If there existed -a human being with the power to drive that home as a truth into -his delirious brain, I believe he would die raving mad. To him -there is no First Cause which was not 'made in Germany.' And it -is one of his most valuable theatrical assets. It is part of his -paraphernalia--like the jangling of his sword and the glitter of -his orders. He shakes it before his people to arrest the attention -of the simple and honest ones as one jingles a rattle before a -child. There are those among them who are not so readily attracted -by terms of blood and iron." - -"But they will be called upon to shed blood and to pour forth -their own. There will be young things like Donal Muir--lads with -ruddy cheeks and with white bodies to be torn to fragments." She -shuddered as she said it. "I am afraid!" she said. "I am afraid!" - -"So am I," Coombe answered. "Of what is coming. What a FOOL I have -been!" - -"How long will it be before other men awaken to say the same -thing?" - -"Each man's folly is his own shame." He drew himself stiffly -upright as a man might who stood before a firing squad. "I had a -life to live or to throw away. Because I was hideously wounded at -the outset I threw it aside as done for. I said 'there is neither -God nor devil, vice nor virtue, love nor hate. I will do and leave -undone what I choose.' I had power and brain and money. A man -who could see clearly and who had words to choose from might have -stood firmly in the place to which he was born and have spoken in -a voice which might have been listened to. He might have fought -against folly and blindness and lassitude. I deliberately chose -privately to sneer at the thought of lifting a hand to serve any -thing but the cold fool who was myself. Life passes quickly. It -does not turn back." He ended with a short harsh laugh. "This -is Fear," he said. "Fear clears a man's mind of rubbish and -non-essentials. It is because I am AFRAID that I accuse myself. And -it is not for myself or you but for the whole world which before -the end comes will seem to fall into fragments." - -"You have been seeing ominous signs?" the Duchess said leaning -forward and speaking low. - -"There have been affectionate visits to Vienna. There is a certain -thing in the air--in the arrogance of the bearing of men clanking -their sabres as they stride through the streets. There is -an exultant eagerness in their eyes. Things are said which hold -scarcely concealed braggart threats. They have always been given -to that sort of thing--but now it strikes one as a thing unleashed--or -barely leashed at all. The background of the sound of clashing -arms and the thudding of marching feet is more unendingly present. -One cannot get away from it. The great munition factories are -working night and day. In the streets, in private houses, in the -shops, one hears and recognizes signs. They are signs which might -not be clear to one who has not spent years in looking on with -interested eyes. But I have watched too long to see only the -surface of things. The nation is waiting for something--waiting." - -"What will be the pretext--what," the Duchess pondered. - -"Any pretext will do--or none--except that Germany must have what -she wants and that she is strong enough to take it--after forty -years of building her machine." - -"And we others have built none. We almost deserve whatever comes -to us." The old woman's face was darkly grave. - -"In three villages where I chance to be lord of the manor I have, -by means of my own, set lads drilling and training. It is supposed -to be a form of amusement and an eccentric whim of mine and it -is a change from eternal cricket. I have given prizes and made an -occasional speech on the ground that English brawn is so enviable -a possession that it ought to develop itself to the utmost. When -I once went to the length of adding that each Englishman should -be muscle fit and ready in case of England's sudden need, I saw -the lads grin cheerfully at the thought of England in any such -un-English plight. Their innocent swaggering belief that the -country is always ready for everything moved my heart of stone. -And it is men like myself who are to blame--not merely men of my -class, but men of my KIND. Those who have chosen to detach themselves -from everything but the living of life as it best pleased their -tastes or served their personal ambitions." - -"Are we going to be taught that man cannot argue without including -his fellow man? Are we going to be forced to learn it?" she said. - -"Yes--forced. Nothing but force could reach us. The race is -an undeveloped thing. A few centuries later it will have evolved -another sense. This century may see the first huge step--because -the power of a cataclysm sweeps it forward." - -He turned his glance towards the opening door. Robin came in with -some letters in her hand. He was vaguely aware that she wore an -aspect he was unfamiliar with. The girl of Mrs. Gareth-Lawless had -in the past, as it went without saying, expressed the final note -of priceless simplicity and mode. The more finely simple she looked, -the more priceless. The unfamiliarity in her outward seeming lay -in the fact that her quiet dun tweed dress with its lines of white -at neck and wrists was not priceless though it was well made. It, -in fact, unobtrusively suggested that it was meant for service -rather than for adornment. Her hair was dressed closely and her -movements were very quiet. Coombe realized that her greeting of -him was delicately respectful. - -"I have finished the letters," she said to the Duchess. "I hope -they are what you want. Sometimes I am afraid----" - -"Don't be afraid," said the Duchess kindly. "You write very correct -and graceful little letters. They are always what I want. Have -you been out today?" - -"Not yet." Robin hesitated a little. "Have I your permission to -ask Mrs. James if it will be convenient to her to let Dowie go -with me for an hour?" - -"Yes," as kindly as before. "For two hours if you like. I shall -not drive this afternoon." - -"Thank you," said Robin and went out of the room as quietly as -she had entered it. - -When the door closed the Duchess was smiling at Lord Coombe. - -"I understand her," she said. "She is sustained and comforted by -her pretty air of servitude. She might use Dowie as her personal maid -and do next to nothing, but she waits upon herself and punctiliously -asks my permission to approach Mrs. James the housekeeper with -any request for a favour. Her one desire is to be sure that she -is earning her living as other young women do when they are paid -for their work. I should really like to pet and indulge her, -but it would only make her unhappy. I invent tasks for her which -are quite unnecessary. For years the little shut-up soul has -been yearning and praying for this opportunity to stand honestly -on her own feet and she can scarcely persuade herself that it has -been given to her. It must not be spoiled for her. I send her on -errands my maid could perform. I have given her a little room with -a serious business air. It is full of files and papers and she -sits in it and copies things for me and even looks over accounts. -She is clever at looking up references. I have let her sit up quite -late once or twice searching for detail and dates for my use. It -made her bloom with joy." - -"You are quite the most delightful woman in the world," said Coombe. -"Quite." - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - - - - - -In the serious little room the Duchess had given to her Robin -built for herself a condition she called happiness. She drew the -spiritual substance from which it was made from her pleasure in -the books of reference closely fitted into their shelves, in the -files for letters and more imposing documents, in the varieties -of letter paper and envelopes of different sizes and materials -which had been provided for her use in case of necessity. - -"You may not use the more substantial ones often, but you must be -prepared for any unexpected contingency," the Duchess had explained, -thereby smoothing her pathway by the suggestion of responsibilities. - -The girl did not know the extent of her employer's consideration -for her, but she knew that she was kind with a special grace -and comprehension. A subtle truth she also did not recognize was -that the remote flame of her own being was fiercely alert in its -readiness to leap upward at any suspicion that her duties were -not worth the payment made for them and that for any reason which -might include Lord Coombe she was occupying a position which was -a sinecure. She kept her serious little room in order herself, -dusting and almost polishing the reference books, arranging and -re-arranging the files with such exactness of system that she -could--as is the vaunt of the model of orderly perfection--lay her -hand upon any document "in the dark." She was punctuality's self -and held herself in readiness at any moment to appear at the -Duchess' side as if a magician had instantaneously transported her -there before the softly melodious private bell connected with her -room had ceased to vibrate. The correctness of her to deference -to the convenience of Mrs. James the housekeeper in her simplest -communication with Dowie quite touched that respectable person's -heart. - -"She's a young lady," Mrs. James remarked to Dowie. "And a credit -to you and her governess, Mrs. Dowson. Young ladies have gone -almost out of fashion." - -"Mademoiselle Valle had spent her governessing days among the -highest. My own places were always with gentle-people. Nothing -ever came near her that could spoil her manners. A good heart she -was born with," was the civil reply of Dowie. - -"Nothing ever came NEAR her--?" Mrs. James politely checked what -she became conscious was a sort of unconscious exclamation. - -"Nothing," said Dowie going on with her sheet hemming steadily. - -Robin wrote letters and copied various documents for the Duchess, -she went shopping with her and executed commissions to order. -She was allowed to enter into correspondence with the village -schoolmistress and the wife of the Vicar at Darte Norham and to buy -prizes for notable decorum and scholarship in the school, and baby -linen and blankets for the Maternity Bag and other benevolences. She -liked buying prizes and the baby clothes very much because--though -she was unaware of the fact--her youth delighted in youngness and the -fulfilling of young desires. Even oftener and more significantly -than ever did eyes turn towards her--try to hold hers--look after -her eagerly when she walked in the streets or drove with the -Duchess in the high-swung barouche. More and more she became used -to it and gradually she ceased to be afraid of it and began to feel -it nearly always--there were sometimes exceptions--a friendly thing. - -She saw friendliness in it because when she caught sight as she so -often did of young things like herself passing in pairs, laughing -and talking and turning to look into each other's eyes, her being -told her that it was sweet and human and inevitable. They always -turned and looked at each other--these pairs--and then they smiled -or laughed or flushed a little. As she had not known when first -she recognized, as she looked down into the street from her nursery -window, that the children nearly always passed in twos or threes -and laughed and skipped and talked, so she did not know when -she first began to notice these joyous young pairs and a certain -touch of exultation in them and feel that it was sweet and quite -a simple common natural thing. Her noting and being sometimes -moved by it was as natural as her pleasure in the opening of spring -flowers or the new thrill of spring birds--but she did not know -that either. - -The brain which has worked through many years in unison with the -soul to which it was apportioned has evolved a knowledge which -has deep cognizance of the universal law. The brain of the old -Duchess had so worked, keeping pace always with its guide, never -visualizing the possibility of working alone, also never falling -into the abyss of that human folly whose conviction is that all -that one sees and gives a special name to is all that exists--or -that the names accepted by the world justly and clearly describe -qualities, yearnings, moods, as they are. This had developed -within her wide perception and a wisdom which was sane and kind -to tenderness. - -As she drove through the streets with Robin beside her she saw -the following eyes, she saw the girl's soft friendly look at the -young creatures who passed her glowing and uplifted by the joy of -life, and she was moved and even disturbed. - -After her return from one particular morning's outing she sent -for Dowie. - -"You have taken care of Miss Robin since she was a little child?" -she began. - -"She was not quite six when I first went to her, your grace." - -"You are not of the women who only feed and bathe a child and keep -her well dressed. You have been a sort of mother to her." - -"I've tried to, your grace. I've loved her and watched over her -and she's loved me, I do believe." - -"That is why I want to talk to you about her, Dowie. If you were -the woman who merely comes and goes in a child's life, I could -not. She is--a very beautiful young thing, Dowie." - -"From her little head to her slim bits of feet, your grace. No -one knows better than I do." - -The Duchess' renowned smile revealed itself. - -"A beautiful young thing ought to see and know other beautiful young -things and make friends with them. That is one of the reasons for -their being put in the world. Since she has been with me she has -spoken to no one under forty. Has she never had young friends?" - -"Never, your grace. Once two--young baggages--were left to have -tea with her and they talked to her about divorce scandals and -corespondents. She never wanted to see them again." Dowie's face -set itself in lines of perfectly correct inexpressiveness and she -added, "They set her asking me questions I couldn't answer. And -she broke down because she suddenly understood why. No, your grace, -she's not known those of her own age." - -"She is--of the ignorance of a child," the Duchess thought it out -slowly. - -"She thinks not, poor lamb, but she is," Dowie answered. The -Duchess' eyes met hers and they looked at each other for a moment. -Dowie tried to retain a non-committal steadiness and the Duchess -observing the intention knew that she was free to speak. - -"Lord Coombe confided to me that she had passed through a hideous -danger which had made a lasting impression on her," she said in -a low voice. "He told me because he felt it would explain certain -reserves and fears in her." - -"Sometimes she wakes up out of nightmares about it," said Dowie. -"And she creeps into my room shivering and I take her into my bed -and hold her in my arms until she's over the panic. She says the -worst of it is that she keeps thinking that there may have been -other girls trapped like her--and that they did not get away." - -The Duchess was very thoughtful. She saw the complications in -which such a horror would involve a girl's mind. - -"If she consorted with other young things and talked nonsense with -them and shared their pleasures she would forget it," she said. - -"Ah!" exclaimed Dowie. "That's it." - -The question in the Duchess' eyes when she lifted them required -an answer and she gave it respectfully. - -"The thing that happened was only the last touch put to what she'd -gradually been finding out as she grew from child to young girl. -The ones she would like to know--she said it in plain words once to -Mademoiselle--might not want to know her. I must take the liberty -of speaking plain, your grace, or it's no use me speaking at all. -She holds it deep in her mind that she's a sort of young outcast." - -"I must convince her that she is not--." It was the beginning of -what the Duchess had meant to say, but she actually found herself -pausing, held for the moment by Dowie's quiet, civil eye. - -"Was your grace in your kindness thinking--?" was what the excellent -woman said. - -"Yes. That I would invite young people to meet her--help them to -know each other and to make friends." And even as she said it she -was conscious of being slightly under the influence of Dowie's -wise gaze. - -"Your grace only knows those young people she would like to know." -It was a mere simple statement. - -"People are not as censorious as they once were." Her grace's tone -was intended to reply to the suggestion lying in the words which -had worn the air of statement without comment. - -"Some are not, but some are," Dowie answered. "There's two worlds -in London now, your grace. One is your grace's and one is Mrs. -Gareth-Lawless'. I HAVE heard say there are others between, but -I only know those two." - -The Duchess pondered again. - -"You are thinking that what Miss Robin said to Mademoiselle Valle -might be true--in mine. And perhaps you are not altogether wrong -even if you are not altogether right." - -"Until I went to take care of Miss Robin I had only had places -in families Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' set didn't touch anywhere. What -I'm remembering is that there was a--strictness--shown sometimes -even when it seemed a bit harsh. Among the servants the older ones -said that is was BECAUSE of the new sets and their fast wicked -ways. One of my young ladies once met another young lady about -her own age--she was just fifteen--at a charity bazaar and they -made friends and liked each other very much. The young lady's -mother was one there was a lot of talk about in connection with a -person of very high station--the highest, your grace--and everyone -knew. The girl was a lovely little creature and beautifully -behaved. It was said her mother wanted to push her into the world -she couldn't get into herself. The acquaintance was stopped, your -grace--it was put a stop to at once. And my poor little young lady -quite broke her heart over it, and I heard it was much worse for -the other." - -"I will think this over," the Duchess said. "It needs thinking -over. I wished to talk to you because I have seen that she has fixed -little ideas regarding what she thinks is suited to her position -as a paid companion and she might not be prepared. I wish you to -see that she has a pretty little frock or so which she could wear -if she required them." - -"She has two, your grace," Dowie smiled affectionately as she said -it. "One for evening and one for special afternoon wear in case -your grace needed her to attend you for some reason. They are as -plain as she dare make them, but when she puts one on she can't -help giving it A LOOK." - -"Yes--she would give it all it needed," her grace said. "Thank -you, Dowie. You may go." - -With her sketch of a respectful curtsey Dowie went towards the -door. As she approached it her step became slower; before she -reached it she had stopped and there was a remarkable look on her -face--a suddenly heroic look. She turned and made several steps -backward and paused again which unexpected action caused the Duchess -to turn to glance at her. When she glanced her grace recognized -the heroic look and waited, with a consciousness of some slight -new emotion within herself, for its explanation. - -"Your grace," Dowie began, asking God himself to give courage if -she was doing right and to check her if she was making a mistake, -"When your grace was thinking of the parents of other young ladies -and gentlemen--did it come to you to put it to yourself whether -you'd be willing--" she caught her breath, but ended quite -clearly, respectfully, reasonably. "Lady Kathryn--Lord Halwyn--" -Lady Kathryn was the Duchess' young granddaughter, Lord Halwyn -was her extremely good-looking grandson who was in the army. - -The Duchess understood what the heroic look had meant, and her -respect for it was great. Its intention had not been to suggest -inclusion of George and Kathryn in her pun, it had only with pure -justice put it to her to ask herself what her own personal decision -in such a matter would be. - -"You do feel as if you were her mother," she said. "And you are a -practical, clear-minded woman. It is only if I myself am willing -to take such a step that I have a right to ask it of other people. -Lady Lothwell is the mother I must speak to first. Her children -are mine though I am a mere grandmother." - -Lady Lothwell was her daughter and though she was not regarded -as Victorian either of the Early or the Middle periods, Dowie as -she returned to her own comfortable quarters wondered what would -happen. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - - - - -What did occur was not at all complicated. It would not have been -possible for a woman to have spent her girlhood with the cleverest -mother of her day and have emerged from her training either -obstinate or illogical. Lady Lothwell listened to as much of the -history of Robin as her mother chose to tell her and plainly felt -an amiable interest in it. She knew much more detail and gossip -concerning Mrs. Gareth-Lawless than the Duchess herself did. She -had heard of the child who was kept out of sight, and she had -been somewhat disgusted by a vague story of Lord Coombe's abnormal -interest in it and the ugly hint that he had an object in view. -It was too unpleasantly morbid to be true of a man her mother had -known for years. - -"Of course you were not thinking of anything large or formal?" -she said after a moment of smiling hesitation. - -"No. I am not launching a girl into society. I only want to help -her to know a few nice young people who are good-natured and -well-mannered. She is not the ordinary old lady's companion and -if she were not so strict with herself and with me, I confess I -should behave towards her very much as I should behave to Kathryn -if you could spare her to live with me. She is a heart-warming -young thing. Because I am known to have one of my eccentric fancies -for her and because after all her father WAS well connected, her -present position will not be the obstacle. She is not the first -modern girl who has chosen to support herself." - -"But isn't she much too pretty?" - -"Much. But she doesn't flaunt it." - -"But heart-warming--and too pretty! Dearest mamma!" Lady Lothwell -laughed again. "She can do no harm to Kathryn, but I own that -if George were not at present quite madly in love with a darling -being at least fifteen years older than himself I should pause -to reflect. Mrs. Stacy will keep him steady--Mrs. Alan Stacy, you -know--the one with the magnificent henna hair, and the eyes that -droop. No boy of twenty-two can resist her. They call her adorers -'The Infant School'." - -"A small dinner and a small dance--and George and Kathryn may be -the beginning of an interesting experiment. It would be pretty -and kind of you to drop in during the course of the evening." - -"Are you hoping to--perhaps--make a marriage for her?" Lady Lothwell -asked the question a shade disturbedly. "You are so amazing, -mamma darling, that I know you will do it, if you believe in it. -You seem to be able to cause the things you really want, to evolve -from the universe." - -"She is the kind of girl whose place in the universe is in the -home of some young man whose own place in the universe is in the -heart and soul and life of her kind of girl. They ought to carry -out the will of God by falling passionately in love with each -other. They ought to marry each other and have a large number of -children as beautiful and rapturously happy as themselves. They -would assist in the evolution of the race." - -"Oh! Mamma! how delightful you always are! For a really brilliant -woman you are the most adorable dreamer in the world." - -"Dreams are the only things which are true. The rest are nothing -but visions." - -"Angel!" her daughter laughed a little adoringly as she kissed -her. "I will do whatever you want me to do. I always did, didn't -I? It's your way of making one see what you see when you are -talking that does it." - -It was understood before they parted that Kathryn and George would -be present at the small dinner and the small dance, and that a -few other agreeable young persons might be trusted to join them, -and that Lady Lothwell and perhaps her husband would drop in. - -"It's your being almost Early Victorian, mamma, which makes it -easy for you to initiate things. You will initiate little Miss -Lawless. It was rather neat of her to prefer to drop the 'Gareth.' -There has been less talk in late years of the different classes -'keeping their places'--'upper' and 'lower' classes really strikes -one as vulgar." - -"We may 'keep our places'," the Duchess said. "We may hold on to -them as firmly as we please. It is the places themselves which -are moving, my dear. It is not unlike the beginning of a landslide." - -Robin went to Dowie's room the next evening and stood a moment in -silence watching her sewing before she spoke. She looked anxious -and even pale. - -"Her grace is going to give a party to some young people, Dowie," -she said. "She wishes me to be present. I--I don't know what to -do." - -"What you must do, my dear, is to put on your best evening frock -and go downstairs and enjoy yourself as the other young people -will. Her grace wants you to see someone your own age," was Dowie's -answer. - -"But I am not like the others. I am only a girl earning her living -as a companion. How do I know--" - -"Her grace knows," Dowie said. "And what she asks you to do it is -your duty to do--and do it prettily." - -Robin lost even a shade more colour. - -"Do you realize that I have never been to a party in my life--not -even to a children's party, Dowie? I shall not know how to behave -myself." - -"You know how to talk nicely to people, and you know how to sit -down and rise from your chair and move about a room like a quiet -young lady. You dance like a fairy. You won't be asked to do -anything more." - -"The Duchess," reflected Robin aloud slowly, "would not let me -come downstairs if she did not know that people would--be kind." - -"Lady Kathryn and Lord Halwyn are coming. They are her own -grandchildren," Dowie said. - -"How did you know that?" Robin inquired. - -Robin's colour began to come back. - -"It's not what usually happens to girls in situations," she said. - -"Her grace herself isn't what usually happens," said Dowie. "There -is no one like her for high wisdom and kindness." - -Having herself awakened to the truth of this confidence-inspiring -fact, Robin felt herself supported by it. One knew what -far-sighted perception and clarity of experienced vision this one -woman had gained during her many years of life. If she had elected -to do this thing she had seen her path clear before her and was not -offering a gift which awkward chance might spoil or snatch away -from the hand held out to receive it. A curious slow warmth began -to creep about Robin's heart and in its mounting gradually fill -her being. It was true she had been taught to dance, to move about -and speak prettily. She had been taught a great many things which -seemed to be very carefully instilled into her mind and body without -any special reason. She had not been aware that Lord Coombe and -Mademoiselle Valle had directed and discussed her training as if -it had been that of a young royal person whose equipment must be -a flawless thing. If the Dowager Duchess of Darte had wished to -present her at Court some fair morning she would have known the -length of the train she must wear, where she must make her curtseys -and to whom and to what depth, how to kiss the royal hand, and -how to manage her train when she retired from the presence. When -she had been taught this she had asked Mademoiselle Valle if the -training was part of every girl's education and Mademoiselle had -answered, - -"It is best to know everything--even ceremonials which may or may -not prove of use. It all forms part of a background and prevents -one from feeling unfamiliar with customs." - -When she had passed the young pairs in the streets she had found -an added interest in them because of this background. She could -imagine them dancing together in fairy ball rooms whose lights -and colours her imagination was obliged to construct for her out -of its own fabric; she knew what the girls would look like if they -went to a Drawing Room and she often wondered if they would feel -shy when the page spread out their lovely peacock tails for them -and left them to their own devices. It was mere Nature that she -should have pondered and pondered and sometimes unconsciously -longed to feel herself part of the flood of being sweeping past -her as she stood apart on the brink of the river. - -The warmth about her heart made it beat a little faster. She opened -the door of her wardrobe when she found herself in her bedroom. The -dress hung modestly in its corner shrouded from the penetration of -London fogs by clean sheeting. It was only white and as simple as -she knew how to order it, but Mademoiselle had taken her to a young -French person who knew exactly what she was doing in all cases, -and because the girl had the supple lines of a wood nymph and the -eyes of young antelope she had evolved that which expressed her -as a petal expresses its rose. Robin locked her door and took the -dress down and found the silk stockings and slippers which belonged -to it. She put them all on standing before her long mirror and -having left no ungiven last touch she fell a few steps backward and -looked at herself, turning and balancing herself as a bird might -have done. She turned lightly round and round. - -"Yes. I AM--" she said. "I am--very!" - -The next instant she laughed at herself outright. - -"How silly! How silly!" she said. "Almost EVERYBODY is--more -or less! I wonder if I remember the new steps." For she had been -taught the new steps--the new walking and swayings and pauses and -sudden swirls and swoops. And her new dress was as short as other -fashionable girls' dresses were, but in her case revealed a haunting -delicacy of contour and line. - -So before her mirror she danced alone and as she danced her lips -parted and her breast rose and fell charmingly, and her eyes -lighted and glowed as any girl's might have done or as a joyous -girl nymph's might have lighted as she danced by a pool in her -forest seeing her loveliness mirrored there. - -Something was awakening as something had awakened when Donal had -kissed a child under the soot sprinkled London trees. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - - - - -The whole day before the party was secretly exciting to Robin. -She knew how much more important it seemed to her than it really -was. If she had been six years old she might have felt the same -kind of uncertain thrills and tremulous wonders. She hid herself -behind the window curtains in her room that she might see the -men putting up the crimson and white awning from the door to the -carriage step. The roll of red carpet they took from their van had -a magic air. The ringing of the door bell which meant that things -were being delivered, the extra moving about of servants, the -florists' men who went into the drawing-rooms and brought flowers -and big tropical plants to re-arrange the conservatory and fill -corners which were not always decorated--each and every one of -them quickened the beating of her pulses. If she had belonged in -her past to the ordinary cheerful world of children, she would -have felt by this time no such elation. But she had only known of -the existence of such festivities as children's parties because once -a juvenile ball had been given in a house opposite her mother's -and she had crouched in an almost delirious little heap by the -nursery window watching carriages drive up and deposit fluffy pink -and white and blue children upon the strip of red carpet, and had -seen them led or running into the house. She had caught sounds -of strains of music and had shivered with rapture--but Oh! what -worlds away from her the party had been. - -She found her way into the drawing-rooms which were not usually thrown -open. They were lofty and stately and seemed to her immense. There -were splendid crystal-dropping chandeliers and side lights which -she thought looked as if they would hold a thousand wax candles. -There was a delightfully embowered corner for the musicians. It -was all spacious and wonderful in its beautiful completeness--its -preparedness for pleasure. She realized that all of it had always -been waiting to be used for the happiness of people who knew -each other and were young and ready for delight. When the young -Lothwells had been children they had had dances and frolicking -games with other children in the huge rooms and had kicked up -their young heels on the polished floors at Christmas parties and -on birthdays. How wonderful it must have been. But they had not -known it was wonderful. - -As Dowie dressed her the reflection she saw in the mirror gave back -to her an intensified Robin whose curved lips almost quivered as -they smiled. The soft silk of her hair looked like the night and -the small rings on the back of her very slim white neck were things -to ensnare the eye and hold it helpless. - -"You look your best, my dear," Dowie said as she clasped her little -necklace. "And it is a good best." Dowie was feeling tremulous -herself though she could not have explained why. She thought that -perhaps it was because she wished that Mademoiselle could have -been with her. - -Robin kissed her when the last touch had been given. - -"I'm going to run down the staircase," she said. "If I let myself -walk slowly I shall have time to feel queer and shy and I might -seem to CREEP into the drawing-room. I mustn't creep in. I must -walk in as if I had been to parties all my life." - -She ran down and as she did so she looked like a white bird -flying, but she was obliged to stop upon the landing before the -drawing-room door to quiet a moment of excited breathing. Still -when she entered the room she moved as she should and held her head -poised with a delicately fearless air. The Duchess--who herself -looked her best in her fine old ivory profiled way--gave her a -pleased smile of welcome which was almost affectionate. - -"What a perfect little frock!" she said. "You are delightfully -pretty in it." - -"Is it quite right?" said Robin. "Mademoiselle chose it for me." - -"It is quite right. 'Frightfully right,' George would say. George -will sit near you at dinner. He is my grandson--Lord Halwyn you -know, and you will no doubt frequently hear him say things are -'frightfully' something or other during the evening. Kathryn will -say things are 'deevy' or 'exquig'. I mention it because you may -not know that she means 'exquisite' and 'divine.' Don't let it -frighten you if you don't quite understand their language. They -are dear handsome things sweeping along in the rush of their bit -of century. I don't let it frighten me that their world seems to -me an entirely new planet." - -Robin drew a little nearer her. She felt something as she had -felt years ago when she had said to Dowie. "I want to kiss you, -Dowie." Her eyes were pools of childish tenderness because she -so well understood the infinitude of the friendly tact which drew -her within its own circle with the light humour of its "I don't -let them frighten ME." - -"You are kind--kind to me," she said. "And I am grateful--GRATEFUL." - -The extremely good-looking young people who began very soon to -drift into the brilliant big room--singly or in pairs of brother -and sister--filled her with innocent delight. They were so well -built and gaily at ease with each other and their surroundings, so -perfectly dressed and finished. The filmy narrowness of delicate -frocks, the shortness of skirts accentuated the youth and girlhood and -added to it a sort of child fairy-likeness. Kathryn in exquisite -wisps of silver-embroidered gauze looked fourteen instead of -nearly twenty--aided by a dimple in her cheek and a small tilted -nose. A girl in scarlet tulle was like a child out of a nursery -ready to dance about a Christmas tree. Everyone seemed so young -and so suggested supple dancing, perhaps because dancing was going -on everywhere and all the world whether fashionable or unfashionable -was driven by a passion for whirling, swooping and inventing new -postures and fantastic steps. The young men had slim straight -bodies and light movements. Their clothes fitted their suppleness -to perfection. Robin thought they all looked as if they had had -a great deal of delightful exercise and plenty of pleasure all -their lives. - -They were of that stream which had always seemed to be rushing -past her in bright pursuit of alluring things which belonged to -them as part of their existence, but which had had nothing to do -with her own youth. Now the stream had paused as if she had for -the moment some connection with it. The swift light she was used -to seeing illuminate glancing eyes as she passed people in the -street, she saw again and again as new arrivals appeared. Kathryn -was quite excited by her eyes and eyelashes and George hovered -about. There was a great deal of hovering. At the dinner table -sleek young heads held themselves at an angle which allowed of -their owners seeing through or around, or under floral decorations -and alert young eyes showed an eager gleam. After dinner was -over and dancing began the Duchess smiled shrewdly as she saw the -gravitating masculine movement towards a certain point. It was -the point where Robin stood with a small growing circle about her. - -It was George who danced with her first. He was tall and slender -and flexible and his good shoulders had a military squareness of -build. He had also a nice square face, and a warmly blue eye and -knew all the latest steps and curves and unexpected swirls. Robin -was an ozier wand and there was no swoop or dart or sudden sway -and change she was not alert at. The swing and lure of the music, -the swift movement, the fluttering of airy draperies as slim sister -nymphs flew past her, set her pulses beating with sweet young joy. -A brief, uncontrollable ripple of laughter broke from her before -she had circled the room twice. - -"How heavenly it is!" she exclaimed and lifted her eyes to Halwyn's. -"How heavenly!" - -They were not safe eyes to lift in such a way to those of a very -young man. They gave George a sudden enjoyable shock. He had -heard of the girl who was a sort of sublimated companion to his -grandmother. The Duchess herself had talked to him a little about -her and he had come to the party intending to behave very amiably -and help the little thing enjoy herself. He had also encountered -before in houses where there were no daughters the smart well-born, -young companion who was allowed all sorts of privileges because -she knew how to assume tiresome little responsibilities and how -to be entertaining enough to add cheer and spice to the life of -the elderly and lonely. Sometimes she was a subtly appealing sort -of girl and given to being sympathetic and to liking sympathy and -quiet corners in conservatories or libraries, and sometimes she -was capable of scientific flirtation and required scientific -management. A man had to have his wits about him. This one as she -flew like a blown leaf across the floor and laughed up into his -face with wide eyes, produced a new effect and was a new kind. - -"It's you who are heavenly," he answered with a boy's laugh. "You -are like a feather--and a willow wand." - -"You are light too," she laughed back, "and you are like steel as -well." - -Mrs. Alan Stacy, the lady with the magnificent henna hair, had -recently given less time to him, being engaged in the preliminary -instruction of a new member of the Infant Class. Such things will, -of course, happen and though George had quite ingenuously raged -in secret, the circumstances left him free to "hover" and hovering -was a pastime he enjoyed. - -"Let us go on like this forever and ever," he said sweeping half -the length of the room with her and whirling her as if she were -indeed a leaf in the wind, "Forever and ever." - -"I wish we could. But the music will stop," she gave back. - -"Music ought never to stop--never," he answered. - -But the music did stop and when it began again almost immediately -another tall, flexible young man made a lightning claim on her -and carried her away only to hand her to another and he in his -turn to another. She was not allowed more than a moment's rest -and borne on the crest of the wave of young delight, she did not -need more. Young eyes were always laughing into hers and elating -her by a special look of pleasure in everything she did or said -or inspired in themselves. How was she informed without phrases -that for this exciting evening she was a creature without a flaw, -that the loveliness of her eyes startled those who looked into -them, that it was a thrilling experience to dance with her, that -somehow she was new and apart and wonderful? No sleek-haired, slim -and straight-backed youth said exactly any of these things to her, -but somehow they were conveyed and filled her with a wondering -realization of the fact that if they were true, they were no longer -dreadful and maddening, since they only made people like and want -to dance with one. To dance, to like people and be liked seemed -so heavenly natural and right--to be only like air and sky and -free, happy breathing. There was, it was true, a blissful little -uplifted look about her which she herself was not aware of, but -which was singularly stimulating to the masculine beholder. It only -meant indeed that as she whirled and swayed and swooped laughing -she was saying to herself at intervals, - -"This is what other girls feel like. They are happy like this. -I am laughing and talking to people just as other girls do. I am -Robin Gareth-Lawless, but I am enjoying a party like this--a YOUNG -party." - -Lady Lothwell sitting near her mother watched the trend of affairs -with an occasional queer interested smile. - -"Well, mamma darling," she said at last as youth and beauty whirled -by in a maelstrom of modern Terpsichorean liveliness, "she is a -great success. I don't know whether it is quite what you intended -or not." - -The Duchess did not explain what she had intended. She was watching -the trend also and thinking a good deal. On the whole Lady Lothwell -had scarcely expected that she would explain. She rarely did. She -seldom made mistakes, however. - -Kathryn in her scant gauzy strips of white and silver having -drifted towards them at the moment stood looking on with a funny -little disturbed expression on her small, tip-tilted face. - -"There's something ABOUT her, grandmamma," she said. - -"All the girls see it and no one knows what it is. She's sitting -out for a few minutes and just look at George--and Hal Brunton--and -Captain Willys. They are all laughing, of course, and pretending -to joke, but they would like to eat each other up. Perhaps it's -her eyelashes. She looks out from under them as if they were a -curtain." - -Lady Lothwell's queer little smile became a queer little laugh. - -"Yes. It gives her a look of being ecstatically happy and yet -almost shy and appealing at the same time. Men can't stand it of -course." - -"None of them are trying to stand it," answered little Lady Kathryn -somewhat in the tone of a retort. - -"I don't believe she knows she does it," Lady Lothwell said quite -reflectively. - -"She does not know at all. That is the worst of it," commented the -Duchess. - -"Then you see that there IS a worst," said her daughter. - -The Duchess glanced towards Kathryn, but fortunately the puzzled -fret of the girl's forehead was even at the moment melting into -a smile as a young man of much attraction descended upon her with -smiles of his own and carried her into the Tango or Fox Trot or -Antelope Galop, whichsoever it chanced to be. - -"If she were really aware of it that would be 'the worst' for -other people--for us probably. She could look out from under her -lashes to sufficient purpose to call what she wanted and take and -keep it. As she is not aware, it will make things less easy for -herself--under the circumstances." - -"The circumstance of being Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' daughter is not -an agreeable one," said Lady Lothwell. - -"It might give some adventurous boys ideas when they had time to -realize all it means. Do you know I am rather sorry for her myself. -I shouldn't be surprised if she were rather a dear little thing. -She looks tender and cuddle-some. Perhaps she is like the heroine -of a sentimental novel I read the other day. Her chief slave said -of her 'She walks into a man's heart through his eyes and sits -down there and makes a warm place which will never get cold again.' -Rather nice, I thought." - -The Duchess thought it rather nice also. - -"'Never get cold again,'" she repeated. "What a heavenly thing -to happen to a pair of creatures--if--" she paused and regarded -Robin, who at the other side of the room was trying to decide -some parlous question of dances to which there was more than one -claimant. She was sweetly puckering her brow over her card and -round her were youthful male faces looking eager and even a trifle -tense with repressed anxiety for the victory of the moment. - -"Oh!" Lady Lothwell laughed. "As Kitty says 'There's something -about her' and it's not mere eyelashes. You have let loose a germ -among us, mamma my sweet, and you can't do anything with a germ -when you have let it loose. To quote Kitty again, 'Look at George!'" - -The music which came from the bower behind which the musicians -were hidden seemed to gain thrill and wildness as the hours went -on. As the rooms grew warmer the flowers breathed out more reaching -scent. Now and again Robin paused for a moment to listen to strange -delightful chords and to inhale passing waves of something like -mignonette and lilies, and apple blossoms in the sun. She thought -there must be some flower which was like all three in one. The -rushing stream was carrying her with it as it went--one of the -happy petals on its surface. Could it ever cast her aside and -leave her on the shore again? While the violins went singing on -and the thousand wax candles shone on the faint or vivid colours -which mingled into a sort of lovely haze, it did not seem possible -that a thing so enchanting and so real could have an end at all. -All the other things in her life seemed less real tonight. - -In the conservatory there was a marble fountain which had long -years ago been brought from a palace garden in Rome. It was not -as large as it was beautiful and it had been placed among palms -and tropic ferns whose leaves and fronds it splashed merrily among -and kept deliciously cool and wet-looking. There was a quite -intoxicating hot-house perfume of warm damp moss and massed flowers -and it was the kind of corner any young man would feel it necessary -to gravitate towards with a partner. - -George led Robin to it and she naturally sat upon the edge of the -marble basin and as naturally drew off a glove and dipped her hand -into the water, splashing it a little because it felt deliciously -cool. George stood near at first and looked down at her bent head. -It was impossible not also to take in her small fine ear and the -warm velvet white of the lovely little nape of her slim neck. He -took them in with elated appreciation. He was not subtle minded -enough to be aware that her reply to a casual remark he had made -to her at dinner had had a remote effect upon him. - -"One of the loveliest creatures I ever saw was a Mrs. Gareth-Lawless," -he had said. "Are you related to her?" - -"I am her daughter," Robin had answered and with a slightly startled -sensation he had managed to slip into amiably deft generalities -while he had secretly wondered how much his grandmother knew or -did not know. - -An involuntary thought of Feather had crossed his mind once or -twice during the evening. This was the girl who, it was said, had -actually been saved up for old Coombe. Ugly morbid sort of idea -if it was true. How had the Duchess got hold of her and why and -what was Coombe really up to? Could he have some elderly idea -of wanting a youngster for a wife? Occasionally an old chap did. -Serve him right if some young chap took the wind out of his sails. -He was not a desperate character, but he had been very intimate -with Mrs. Alan Stacy and her friends and it had made him careless. -Also Robin had drawn him--drawn him more than he knew. - -"Is it still heavenly?" he asked. (How pointed her fingers were -and how soft and crushable her hand looked as it splashed like a -child's.) - -"More heavenly every minute," she answered. He laughed outright. - -"The heavenly thing is the way you are enjoying it yourself. I -never saw a girl light up a whole room before. You throw out stars -as you dance." - -"That's like a skyrocket," Robin laughed back. "And it's because -in all my life I never went to a dance before." - -"Never! You mean except to children's parties?" - -"There were no children's parties. This is the first--first--first." - -"Well, I don't see how that happened, but I am glad it did because -it's been a great thing for me to see you at your first--first--first." - -He sat down on the fountain's edge near her. - -"I shall not forget it," he said. - -"I shall remember it as long as I live," said Robin and she lifted -her unsafe eyes again and smiled into his which made them still -more unsafe. - -Perhaps it was because he was extremely young, perhaps it was -because he was immoral, perhaps because he had never held a tight -rein on his fleeting emotions, even the next moment he felt that -it was because he was an idiot--but suddenly he found he had let -himself go and was kissing the warm velvet of the slim little -nape--had kissed it twice. - -He had not given himself time to think what would happen as a -result, but what did happen was humiliating and ridiculous. One -furious splash of the curled hand flung water into his face and -eyes and mouth while Robin tore herself free from him and stood -blazing with fury and woe--for it was not only fury he saw. - -"You--You--!" she cried and actually would have swooped to the -fountain again if he had not caught her arm. - -He was furious himself--at himself and at her. - -"You--little fool!" he gasped. "What did you do that for even if -I WAS a jackass? There was nothing in it. You're so pretty----" - -"You've spoiled everything!" she flamed, "everything--everything!" - -"I've spoiled nothing. I've only been a fool--and it's your own -fault for being so pretty." - -"You've spoiled everything in the world! Now--" with a desolate -horrible little sob, "now I can only go back--BACK!" - -He had a queer idea that she spoke as if she were Cinderella and -he had made the clock strike twelve. Her voice had such absolute -grief in it that he involuntarily drew near her. - -"I say," he was really breathless, "don't speak like that. I beg -pardon. I'll grovel! Don't--Oh! Kathryn--COME here." - -This last because at this difficult moment from between the banks -of hot-house bloom and round the big palms his sister Kathryn -suddenly appeared. She immediately stopped short and stared at -them both--looking from one to the other. - -"What is the matter?" she asked in a low voice. - -"Oh! COME and talk to her," George broke forth. "I feel as if she -might scream in a minute and call everybody in. I've been a lunatic -and she has apparently never been kissed before. Tell her--tell -her you've been kissed yourself." - -A queer little look revealed itself in Kathryn's face. A delicate -vein of her grandmother's wisdom made part of her outlook upon a -rapidly moving and exciting world. She had never been hide-bound -or dull and for a slight gauzy white and silver thing she was -astute. - -"Don't be impudent," she said to George as she walked up to Robin -and put a cool hand on her arm. "He's only been silly. You'd better -let him off," she said. She turned a glance on George who was -wiping his sleeve with a handkerchief and she broke into a small -laugh, "Did she push you into the fountain?" she asked cheerfully. - -"She threw the fountain at me," grumbled George. "I shall have to -dash off home and change." - -"I would," replied Kathryn still cheerful. "You can apologize -better when you're dry." - -He slid through the palms like a snake and the two girls stood -and gazed at each other. Robin's flame had died down and her face -had settled itself into a sort of hardness. Kathryn did not know -that she herself looked at her as the Duchess might have looked -at another girl in the quite different days of her youth. - -"I'll tell you something now he's gone," she said. "I HAVE been -kissed myself and so have other girls I know. Boys like George -don't really matter, though of course it's bad manners. But who -has got good manners? Things rush so that there's scarcely time -for manners at all. When an older man makes a snatch at you it's -sometimes detestable. But to push him into the fountain was a -good idea," and she laughed again. - -"I didn't push him in." - -"I wish you had," with a gleeful mischief. The next moment, however, -the hint of a worried frown showed itself on her forehead. "You -see," she said protestingly, "you are so FRIGHTFULLY pretty." - -"I'd rather be a leper," Robin shot forth. - -But Kathryn did not of course understand. - -"What nonsense!" she answered. "What utter rubbish! You know you -wouldn't. Come back to the ball room. I came here because my mother -was asking for George." - -She turned to lead the way through the banked flowers and as she -did so added something. - -"By the way, somebody important has been assassinated in one of -the Balkan countries. They are always assassinating people. They -like it. Lord Coombe has just come in and is talking it over with -grandmamma. I can see they are quite excited in their quiet way." - -As they neared the entrance to the ball room she paused a moment -with a new kind of impish smile. - -"Every girl in the room is absolutely shaky with thrills at this -particular moment," she said. "And every man feels himself bristling -a little. The very best looking boy in all England is dancing with -Sara Studleigh. He dropped in by chance to call and the Duchess -made him stay. He is a kind of miracle of good looks and takingness." - -Robin said nothing. She had plainly not been interested in the -Balkan tragedy and she as obviously did not care for the miracle. - -"You don't ask who he is?" said Kathryn. - -"I don't want to know." - -"Oh! Come! You mustn't feel as sulky as that. You'll want to ask -questions the moment you see him. I did. Everyone does. His name -is Donal Muir. He's Lord Coombe's heir. He'll be the Head of the -House of Coombe some day. Here he comes," quite excitedly, "Look!" - -It was one of the tricks of Chance--or Fate--or whatever you will. -The dance brought him within a few feet of them at that very moment -and the slow walking steps he was taking held him--they were some -of the queer stealthy almost stationary steps of the Argentine -Tango. He was finely and smoothly fitted as the other youngsters -were, his blond glossed head was set high on a heroic column of -neck, he was broad of shoulder, but not too broad, slim of waist, -but not too slim, long and strong of leg, but light and supple -and firm. He had a fair open brow and a curved mouth laughing to -show white teeth. Robin felt he ought to wear a kilt and plaid and -that an eagle's feather ought to be standing up from a chieftain's -bonnet on the fair hair which would have waved if it had been -allowed length enough. He was scarcely two yards from her now and -suddenly--almost as if he had been called--he turned his eyes away -from Sara Studleigh who was the little thing in Christmas tree -scarlet. They were blue like the clear water in a tarn when the -sun shines on it and they were still laughing as his mouth was. -Straight into hers they laughed--straight into hers. - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - - - - -Through all aeons since all the worlds were made it is at least not -unthinkable that in all the worlds of which our own atom is one, -there has ruled a Force illimitable, unconquerable and inexplicable -and whichsoever its world and whatsoever the sign denoting or the -name given it, the Force--the Thing has been the same. Upon our -own atom of the universe it is given the generic name of Love and -its existence is that which the boldest need not defy, the most profound -need not attempt to explain with clarity, the most brilliantly -sophistical to argue away. Its forms of beauty, triviality, -magnificence, imbecility, loveliness, stupidity, holiness, purity -and bestiality neither detract from nor add to its unalterable -power. As the earth revolves upon its axis and reveals night and -day, Spring, Summer and Winter, so it reveals this ceaselessly -working Force. Men who were as gods have been uplifted or broken -by it, fools have trifled with it, brutes have sullied it, saints -have worshipped, poets sung and wits derided it. As electricity -is a force death dealing, or illuminating and power bestowing, so -is this Great Impeller, and it is fatuous--howsoever worldly wise -or moderately sardonic one would choose to be--to hint ironically -that its proportions are less than the ages have proved them. -Whether a world formed without a necessity for the presence and -assistance of this psychological factor would have been a better -or a worse one, it is--by good fortune--not here imperative that -one should attempt to decide. What is--exists. None of us created -it. Each one will deal with the Impeller as he himself either -sanely or madly elects. He will also bear the consequences--and so -also may others. - -Of this force the Head of the House of Coombe and his old friend -knew much and had often spoken to each other. They had both been -accustomed to recognizing its signs subtle or crude, and watching -their development. They had seen it in the eyes of creatures young -enough to be called boys and girls, they had heard it in musical -laughter and in silly giggles, they had seen it express itself in -tragedy and comedy and watched it end in union or in a nothingness -which melted away like a wisp of fog. But they knew it was a thing -omnipresent and that no one passed through life untouched by it -in some degree. - -Years before this evening two children playing in a garden had -not know that the Power--the Thing--drew them with its greatest -strength because among myriads of atoms they two were created for -oneness. Enraptured and unaware they played together, their souls -and bodies drawn nearer each other every hour. - -So it was that--without being portentous--one may say that when -an unusually beautiful and unusually well dressed and perfectly -fitted young man turned involuntarily in the particular London ball -room in which Mrs. Gareth-Lawless' daughter watched the dancers, -and looked unintentionally into the eyes of a girl standing -for a moment near the wide entrance doors, the inexplicable and -unconquerable Force reconnected its currents again. - -Donal Muir's eyes only widened a little for a second's time. He -had not known why he had suddenly looked around and he did not -know why he was conscious of something which startled him a little. -You could not actually stare at a girl because your eyes chanced -to get entangled in hers for a second as you danced past her. It -was true she was of a startling prettiness and there was something--. -Yes, there was SOMETHING which drew the eye and--. He did not know -what it was. It had actually given him a sort of electric shock. -He laughed at himself a little and then his open brow looked -puzzled for a moment. - -"You saw Miss Lawless," said Sara Studleigh who was at the moment -dancing prettily with him. She was guilty of something which might -have been called a slight giggle, but it was good-natured. "I -know, you saw Miss Lawless--the pretty one near the door." - -"There are so many pretty ones near everything. You can't lift your -eyes without seeing one," Donal answered. "What a lot of them!" -(The sense of having received a slight electric shock made you -feel that you must look again and find out what had caused it, he -was thinking.) - -"She is the one with the eyelashes." - -"I have eyelashes--so have you," looking down at hers with a very -taking expression. Hers were in fact nice ones. - -"But ours are not two inches long and they don't make a big soft -circle round our eyes when we look at anyone." - -"Please look up and let me see," said Donal. "When I asked you to -dance with me I thought--" - -What a "way" he had, Sara Studleigh was thinking. But "perhaps it -WAS the eyelashes" was passing through Donal's mind. Very noticeable -eyelashes were rather arresting. - -"I knew you saw her," said Sara Studleigh, "because I have happened -to be near two or three people this evening when they caught their -first sight of her." - -"What happens to them?" asked Donal Muir. - -"They forget where they are," she laughed, "and don't say anything -for a few seconds." - -"I should not want to forget where I am. It wouldn't be possible -either," answered Donal. ("But that was it," he thought. "For a -minute I forgot.") - -One should not dance with one girl and talk to her about another. -Wisely he led her to other subjects. The music was swinging through -the air performing its everlasting miracle of swinging young souls -and pulses with it, the warmed flowers breathed more perceptible -scent, sweet chatter and laughter, swaying colour and glowing eyes -concentrated in making magic. This beautiful young man's pulses -only beat with the rest--as one with the pulse of the Universe. -Lady Lothwell acting for the Duchess was very kind to him finding -him another partner as soon as a new dance began--this time her -own daughter, Lady Kathryn. - -Even while he had been tangoing with Sara Studleigh he had seen -the girl with the eyelashes, whirling about with someone, and -when he began his dance with Kathryn, he caught a glimpse of her -at the other end of the room. And almost immediately Kathryn spoke -of her. - -"I don't know when you will get a dance with Miss Lawless," she -said. "She is obliged to work out mathematical problems on her -programme." - -"I have a setter who fixes his eyes on you and waits without -moving until you look at him and then he makes a dart and you're -obliged to pat him," he said. "Perhaps if I go and stand near her -and do that she will take notice of me." - -"Take notice of him, the enslaving thing!" thought Kathryn. "She'd -jump--for all her talk about lepers--any girl would. He's TOO nice! -There's something about HIM too." - -Robin did not jump. She had no time to do it because one dance -followed another so quickly and some of them were even divided in -two or three pieces. But the thrill of the singing sound of the -violins behind the greenery, the perfume and stately spaces and -thousand candlelights had suddenly been lifted on to another plane -though she had thought they could reach no higher one. Her whole -being was a keen fine awareness. Every moment she was AWARE. After -all the years--from the far away days--he had come back. No one -had dreamed of the queer half abnormal secret she had always kept -to herself as a child--as a little girl--as a bigger one when she -would have died rather than divulge that in her loneliness there -had been something she had remembered--something she had held on -to--a memory which she had actually made a companion of, making -pictures, telling herself stories in the dark, even inventing -conversations which not for one moment had she thought would -or could ever take place. But they had been living things to her -and her one near warm comfort--closer, oh, so weirdly closer than -kind, kind Dowie and dearly beloved Mademoiselle. She had wondered -if the two would have disapproved if they had known--if Mademoiselle -would have been shocked if she had realized that sometimes when -they walked together there walked with them a growing, laughing -boy in a swinging kilt and plaid and that he had a voice and eyes -that drew the heart out of your breast for joy. At first he had -only been a child like herself, but as she had grown he had grown -with her--but always taller, grander, marvellously masculine and -beyond compare. Yet never once had she dared to believe or hope -that he could take form before her eyes--a living thing. He had -only been the shadow she had loved and which could not be taken -away from her because he was her secret and no one could ever know. - -The music went swinging and singing with notes which were almost a -pain. And he was in the very room with her! Donal! Donal! He had -not known and did not know. He had laughed into her eyes without -knowing--but he had come back. A young man now like all the rest, -but more beautiful. What a laugh, what wonderful shoulders, what -wonderful dancing, how long and strongly smooth and supple he was -in the line fabric of his clothes! Though her mind did not form -these things in words for her, it was only that her eyes saw all -the charm of him from head to foot, and told her that he was only -more than ever what he had been in the miraculous first days. - -"Perhaps he will not find out at all," she thought, dancing all -the while and trying to talk as well as think. "I was too little -for him to remember. I only remembered because I had nothing else. -Oh, if he should not find out!" She could not go and tell him. -Even if a girl could do such a thing, perhaps he could not recall -a childish incident of so long ago--such a small, small thing. It -had only been immense to her and so much water had flowed under -his bridge bearing so many flotillas. She had only stood and -looked down at a thin trickling stream which carried no ships at -all. It was very difficult to keep her eyes from stealing--even -darting--about in search of him. His high fair head with the -clipped wave in its hair could be followed if one dared be alert. -He danced with an auburn haired girl, he spun down the room with -a brown one, he paused for a moment to show the trick of a new step -to a tall one with black coils. He was at the end of the room, he -was tangoing towards her and she felt her heart beat and beat. -He passed close by and his eyes turned upon her and after he had -passed a queer little inner trembling would not cease. Oh! if he -had looked a little longer--if her partner would only carry her -past him! And how dreadful she was to let herself feel so excited -when he could not be EXPECTED to remember such a little thing--just -a baby playing with him in a garden. Oh!--her heart giving a leap--if -he would look--if he would LOOK! - -When did she first awaken to a realization--after what seemed years -and years of waiting and not being able to conquer the inwardly -trembling feeling--that he was BEGINNING to look--that somehow he -had become aware of her presence and that it drew his eyes though -there was no special recognition in them? Down the full length -of the room they met hers first, and again as he passed with yet -another partner. Then when he was resting between danced and being -very gay indeed--though somehow he always seemed gay. He had been -gay when they played in the Gardens. Yes, his eyes cane and found -her. She thought he spoke of her to someone near him. Of course -Robin looked away and tried not to look again too soon. But when -in spite of intention and even determination, something forced her -glance and made it a creeping, following glance--there were his -eyes again. She was frightened each time it happened, but he was -not. She began to know with new beatings of the pulse that he no -longer looked by chance, but because he wanted to see her--and -wished her to see him, as if he had begun to call to her with a -gay Donal challenge. It was like that, though his demeanour was -faultlessly correct. - -The incident of their meeting was faultlessly correct, also, when -after one of those endless lapses of time Lady Lothwell appeared -and presented him as if the brief ceremony were one of the most -ordinary in existence. The conventional grace of his bow said no -more than George's had said to those looking on, but when he put -his arm round her and they began to sway together in the dance, -Robin wondered in terror if he could not feel the beating of her -heart under his hand. If he could it would be horrible--but it -would not stop. To be so near--to try to believe it--to try to -make herself remember that she could mean nothing to him and that -it was only she who was shaking--for nothing! But she could not -help it. This was the disjointed kind of thing that flew past her -mental vision. She was not a shy girl, but she could not speak. -Curiously enough he also was quite silent for several moments. -They danced for a space without a word and they did not notice -that people began to watch them because they were an attracting -pair to watch. And the truth was that neither of the two knew in -the least what the other thought. - -"That--is a beautiful waltz," he said at last. He said it in a -low meaning voice as if it were a sort of emotional confidence. -He had not actually meant to speak in such a tone, but when he -realized what its sound had been he did not care in the least. -What was the matter with him? - -"Yes," Robin answered. (Only "Yes.") - -He had not known when he glanced at her first, he was saying -mentally. He could not, of course, swear to her now. But what an -extraordinary thing that--! She was like a swallow--she was like -any swift flying thing on a man's arm. One could go on to the end -of time. Once round the great ball room, twice, and as the third -round began he gave a little laugh and spoke again. - -"I am going to ask you a question. May I?" - -"Yes." - -"Is your name Robin?" - -"Yes," she could scarcely breathe it. - -"I thought it was," in the voice in which he had spoken of the -music. "I hoped it was--after I first began to suspect. I HOPED -it was." - -"It is--it is." - -"Did we--" he had not indeed meant that his arm should hold her -a shade closer, but--in spite of himself--it did because he was -after all so little more than a boy, "--did we play together in -a garden?" - -"Yes--yes," breathed Robin. "We did." Surely she heard a sound -as if he had caught a quick breath. But after it there were a few -more steps and another brief space of silence. - -"I knew," he said next, very low. "I KNEW that we played together -in a garden." - -"You did not know when you first looked at me tonight." Innocently -revealing that even his first glance had been no casual thing to -her. - -But his answer revealed something too. - -"You were near the door--just coming into the room. I didn't know -why you startled me. I kept looking for you afterwards in the -crowd." - -"I didn't see you look," said Robin softly, revealing still more -in her utter inexperience. - -"No, because you wouldn't look at me--you were too much engaged. -Do you like this step?" - -"I like them all." - -"Do you always dance like this? Do you always make your partner -feel as if he had danced with you all his life?" - -"It is--because we played together in the garden," said Robin -and then was quite terrified at herself. Because after all--after -all they were only two conventional young people meeting for the -first time at a dance, not knowing each other in the least. It -was really the first time. The meeting of two children could not -count. But the beating and strange elated inward tremor would not -stop. - -As for him he felt abnormal also and he was usually a very normal -creature. It was abnormal to be so excited that he found himself, -as it were, upon another plane, because he had recognized and was -dancing with a girl he had not seen since she was five or six. -It was not normal that he should be possessed by a desire to keep -near to her, overwhelmed by an impelling wish to talk to her--to -ask her questions. About what--about herself--themselves--the years -between--about the garden. - -"It began to come back bit by bit after I had two fair looks. You -passed me several times though you didn't know." (Oh! had she not -known!) "I had been promised some dances by other people. But I -went to Lady Lothwell. She's very kind." - -Back swept the years and it had all begun again, the wonderful -happiness--just as the anguish had swept back on the night her -mother had come to talk to her. As he had brought it into her -dreary little world then, he brought it now. He had the power. -She was so happy that she seemed to be only waiting to hear what -he would say--as if that were enough. There are phases like this--rare -ones--and it was her fate that through such a phase she was passing. - -It was indeed true that much more water had passed under his -bridge than under hers, but now--! Memory reproduced for him with -an acuteness like actual pain, a childish torment he thought he had -forgotten. And it was as if it had been endured only yesterday--and -as if the urge to speak and explain was as intense as it had been -on the first day. - -"She's very little and she won't understand," he had said to his -mother. "She's very little, really--perhaps she'll cry." - -How monstrous it had seemed! Had she cried--poor little soul! -He looked down at her eyelashes. Her cheek had been of the same -colour and texture then. That came back to him too. The impulse to -tighten his arms was infernally powerful--almost automatic. - -"She has no one but me to remember!" he heard his own child voice -saying fiercely. Good Lord, it WAS as if it had been yesterday. -He actually gulped something down in his throat. - -"You haven't rested much," he said aloud. "There's a conservatory -with marble seats and corners and a fountain going. Will you let -me take you there when we stop dancing? I want to apologize to -you." - -The eyelashes lifted themselves and made round her eyes the -big soft shadow of which Sara Studleigh had spoken. A strong and -healthy valvular organ in his breast lifted itself curiously at -the same time. - -"To apologize?" - -Was he speaking to her almost as if she were still four or five? -It was to the helplessness of those years he was about to explain--and -yet he did not feel as though he were still eight. - -"I want to tell you why I never came back to the garden. It was -a broken promise, wasn't it?" - -The music had not ceased, but they stopped dancing. - -"Will you come?" he said and she went with him like a child--just -as she had followed in her babyhood. It seemed only natural to do -what he asked. - -The conservatory was like an inner Paradise now. 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." - -"No," said Robin in a small strange voice and without moving her -gaze. "She didn't KNOW." - -He had seated himself on a sort of low marble stool near her and -he held a knee with clasped hands. They were hands which held each -other for the moment with a sort of emotional clinch. His position -made him look upward at her instead of down. - -"It was YOU I was wild about," he said. "You see it was YOU. I -could have stood it for myself. The trouble was that I felt I was -such a big little chap. I thought I was years--ages older than -you--and mountains bigger," his faint laugh was touched with pity -for the smallness of the big little chap. "You seemed so tiny and -pretty--and lonely." - -"I was as lonely as a new-born bird fallen out of its nest." - -"You had told me you had 'nothing.' You said no one had ever kissed -you. I'd been loved all my life. You had a wondering way of fixing -your eyes on me as if I could give you everything--perhaps it was -a coxy little chap's conceit that made me love you for it--but -perhaps it wasn't." - -"You WERE everything," Robin said--and the mere simpleness of -the way in which she said it brought the garden so near that he -smelt the warm hawthorn and heard the distant piano organ and it -quickened his breath. - -"It was because I kept seeing your eyes and hearing your laugh -that I thought my heart was bursting. I knew you'd go and wait for -me--and gradually your little face would begin to look different. -I knew you'd believe I'd come. 'She's little'--that was what I kept -saying to myself again and again. 'And she'll cry--awfully--and -she'll think I did it. She'll never know.' There,"--he hesitated -a moment--"there was a kind of mad shame in it. As if I'd BETRAYED -your littleness and your belief, though I was too young to know -what betraying was." - -Just as she had looked at him before, "as if he could give her -everything," she was looking at him now. In what other way could -she look while he gave her this wonderful soothing, binding softly -all the old wounds with unconscious, natural touch because he had -really been all her child being had been irradiated and warmed -by. There was no pose in his manner--no sentimental or flirtatious -youth's affecting of a picturesque attitude. It was real and he -told her this thing because he must for his own relief. - -"Did you cry?" he said. "Did my little chap's conceit make too -much of it? I suppose I ought to hope it did." - -Robin put her hand softly against her heart. - -"No," she answered. "I was only a baby, but I think it KILLED -something--here." - -He caught a big hard breath. - -"Oh!" he said and for a few seconds simply sat and gazed at her. - -"But it came to life again?" he said afterwards. - -"I don't know. I don't know what it was. Perhaps it could only -live in a very little creature. But it was killed." - -"I say!" broke from him. "It was like wringing a canary's neck -when it was singing in the sun!" - -A sudden swelling of the music of a new dance swept in to them -and he rose and stood up before her. - -"Thank you for giving me my chance to tell you," he said. "This -was the apology. You have been kind to listen." - -"I wanted to listen," Robin said. "I am glad I didn't live a long -time and grow old and die without your telling me. When I saw you -tonight I almost said aloud, 'He's come back!'" - -"I'm glad I came. It's queer how one can live a thing over again. -There have been all the years between for us both. For me there's -been all a lad's life--tutors and Eton and Oxford and people and -lots of travel and amusement. But the minute I set eyes on you -near the door something must have begun to drag me back. I'll own -I've never liked to let myself dwell on that memory. It wasn't a -good thing because it had a trick of taking me back in a fiendish -way to the little chap with his heart bursting in the railway -carriage--and the betrayal feeling. It's morbid to let yourself -grouse over what can't be undone. So you faded away. But when I -danced past you somehow I knew I'd come on SOMETHING. It made me -restless. I couldn't keep my eyes away decently. Then all at once -I KNEW! I couldn't tell you what the effect was. There you were -again--I was as much obliged to tell you as I should have been if -I'd found you at Braemarnie when I got there that night. Conventions -had nothing to do with it. It would not have mattered even if -you'd obviously thought I was a fool. You might have thought so, -you know." - -"No, I mightn't," answered Robin. "There have been no Eton and -Oxford and amusements for me. This is my first party." - -She rose as he had done and they stood for a second or so with their -eyes resting on each other's--each with a young smile quivering -into life which neither was conscious of. It was she who first -wakened and came back. He saw a tiny pulse flutter in her throat -and she lifted her hand with a delicate gesture. - -"This dance was Lord Halwyn's and we've sat it out. We must go -back to the ball room." - -"I--suppose--we must," he answered with slow reluctance--but he -could scarcely drag his eyes away from hers--even though he obeyed, -and they turned and went. - -In the shining ball room the music rose and fell and swelled again -into ecstasy as he took her white young lightness in his arm and -they swayed and darted and swooped like things of the air--while -the old Duchess and Lord Coombe looked on almost unseeing and -talked in murmurs of Sarajevo. - -THE END - -PUBLISHERS' NOTE - -The inflexible limitations of magazine space necessitated the -omission--in its serial form--of so large a portion of THE -HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE as to eliminate much of the charm -of characterization and the creation of atmosphere and background -which add so greatly to the power and picturesqueness of the -author's work. - -These values having been unavoidably lost in a greatly compressed -version, it is the publishers' desire to produce the story in its -entirety, and, as during its writing it developed into what might -be regarded as two novels--so distinctly does it deal with two -epochs--it has been decided to present it to its public as two -separate books. The first, THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE, deals -with social life in London during the evolutionary period between -the late Victorian years and the reign of Edward VII and that of -his successor, previous to the Great War. It brings Lord Coombe -and Donal, Feather and her girl Robin to the summer of 1914. It -ends with the ending of a world which can never again be the same. -The second novel, ROBIN, to be published later continues the story -of the same characters, facing existence, however, in a world -transformed by tragedy, and in which new aspects of character, new -social, economic, and spiritual possibilities are to be confronted, -rising to the surface of life as from the depths of unknown seas. -Readers of THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE will follow -the story of Robin with intensified interest. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Head of the House of Coombe, by -Frances Hodgson Burnett - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF COOMBE *** - -***** This file should be named 6491.txt or 6491.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/9/6491/ - -Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team. - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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