Violet bit her lip and looked at the speaker reflectively. She felt there was no rhyme or reason in his amused expression.
"Then, that is why you haven't seen Miss Kathleen's hair in the daylight," she said. "Have you discovered her locked doors?"
"She let me into her ballroom, at Christmas, and I think I must have been so pleased with that I didn't try to get any further."
"I see," returned Violet. "Well, if you go to the island you'll have a chance to explore. Of course your experience with her may be different from mine. Perhaps an artist will have the open sesame to her doors. I'm not a bit intellectual. I have to dance my way into people's confidence, or I don't get there."
"I hear you teach that very pretty art."
"She teaches me," put in Ernest, who was tired of being left out of the conversation. "I can dance a jig."
"Bully for you," said Phil. "Go ahead, right here on the path."
"Oh, I can't without any music."
"There's the music." Phil pointed with his brush-handle to a lofty branch where the robin was pouring forth linked sweetness, long drawn-out.
"The pebbles are too rolly," said the child. "You said you'd make me a picture of the robin."