Mrs. Erwyn was one of the most treasured of Feather’s circle. Her little girls’ governess was a young Frenchwoman, entirely unlike Mademoiselle Vallé. Eileen and Winifred saw Life from their schoolroom windows as an open book. Why not, since their governess and their mother’s French maid conversed freely, and had rather penetrating voices even when they were under the impression that they lowered them out of deference to blameless youth. Eileen and Winifred liked to remain awake to listen as long as they could after they went to bed. They themselves had large curious eyes and were given to whispering and giggling.
They talked a good deal to Robin and assumed fashionable little grown up airs. They felt themselves mature creatures as compared to her, since she was not yet thirteen. They were so familiar with personages and functions that Robin felt that they must have committed to memory every morning the column in the Daily Telegraph known as “London Day by Day.” She sometimes read it herself, because it was amusing to her to read about parties and weddings and engagements. But it did not seem easy to remember. Winifred and Eileen were delighted to display themselves in the character of instructresses. They entertained Robin for a short time, but, after that, she began to dislike the shared giggles which so often broke out after their introduction of a name or an incident. It seemed to hint that they were full of amusing information which they held back. Then they were curious and made remarks and asked questions. She began to think them rather horrid.
“We saw Lord Coombe yesterday,” said Winifred at last, and the unnecessary giggle followed.
“We think he wears the most beautiful clothes we ever saw! You remember his overcoat, Winnie?” said Eileen. “He matches so—and yet you don’t know exactly how he matches,” and she giggled also.
“He is the best dressed man in London,” Winifred stated quite grandly. “I think he is handsome. So do Mademoiselle and Florine.”
Robin said nothing at all. What Dowson privately called “her secret look” made her face very still. Winifred saw the look and, not understanding it or her, became curious.
“Don’t you?” she said.
“No,” Robin answered. “He has a wicked face. And he’s old, too.”
“You think he’s old because you’re only about twelve,” inserted Eileen. “Children think everybody who is grown-up must be old. I used to. But now people don’t talk and think about age as they used to. Mademoiselle says that when a man has distinction he is always young—and nicer than boys.”
Winifred, who was persistent, broke in.