Part 14 (1/2)

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 n.o.body? Donal was an exact little lad. He had had foundation for his curious sc.r.a.ps 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 gra.s.s 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 wors.h.i.+pping 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 s.h.i.+ne.

”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?”