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 Vallé. 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.”