“Yes, I thought I should have found him serenading you when I got home,” he said. “I expect he’ll write to you.”
“I wish he would. But let’s go back to our subject. Your party last night.”
Robin had finished brushing his hair, and came to perch himself on the arm of her chair. This action exposed a good deal of white, firm leg, up to a lean knee-joint. Somehow the sight of that took his mother back to those lovely days when she was a young mother, and he a little dimpled baby. How well she remembered kissing every inch of him, and under the impulse of that memory she could not forbear to kiss that exposed knee, and then cover it up again with the fold of his dressing-gown, as if to shut her kiss in. He was still so tremendously hers.
“I’ll tell you all about the party, if you like,” he said.
“Oh, you darling. But I don’t want to know anything about it, since you are willing to tell me. I really only care that you should be willing to do so. It was rowdy, and were there by any chance a few young ladies there?”
“Well, naturally. You didn’t think Badders and I would go and sit in the Café Londres all alone? But I’m rather sick of that sort of thing. I shan’t be sorry to go back to Cambridge.”
“But are you going back, dear?” she said.
“Yes, I thought I told you.”
“Then you won’t come down to Grote to-morrow? I’m going there for the Sunday.”
“I think I won’t. I promised Jim to go up to Cambridge to-day, in fact I promised him to go up yesterday, but then Badders suggested an evening on the rampage. Have you got a party?”