Part 43 (2/2)

”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 fas.h.i.+on 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 a.s.suredly 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 pa.s.sionate 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 d.u.c.h.ess' 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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.

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