“They did not intend any rudeness,” she said, after they had gone by. “They are not much more than boys and not perfectly behaved. People often stare when they see a very pretty girl. I am afraid I do it myself. You are very pretty,” quite calmly, and as one speaking without prejudice.
Robin turned and looked at her, and the colour, which was like a Jacqueminot rose, flooded her face. She was at the flushing age. Her gaze was interested, speculative, and a shade startled—merely a shade.
“Oh,” she said briefly—not in exclamation exactly, but in a sort of acceptance. Then she looked straight before her and went on walking, with the lovely, slightly swaying, buoyant step which in itself drew attracted eyes after her.
“If I were a model governess, such as one read of long before you were born,” Mademoiselle Vallé continued, “I should feel it my duty to tell you that beauty counts for nothing. But that is nonsense. It counts a great deal—with some women it counts for everything. Such women are not lucky. One should thank Heaven for it and make the best of it, without exaggerated anxiety. Both Dowie and I, who love you, are grateful to le bon Dieu that you are pretty.”
“I have sometimes thought I was pretty, when I saw myself in the glass,” said Robin, with unexcited interest. “It seemed to me that I looked pretty. But, at the same time, I couldn’t help knowing that everything is a matter of taste and that it might be because I was conceited.”
“You are not conceited,” answered the Frenchwoman.
“I don’t want to be,” said Robin. “I want to be—a serious person with—with a strong character.”
Mademoiselle’s smile was touched with affectionate doubt. It had not occurred to her to view this lovely thing in the light of a “strong” character. Though, after all, what exactly was strength? She was a warm, intensely loving, love compelling, tender being. Having seen much of the world, and of humanity and inhumanity, Mademoiselle Vallé had had moments of being afraid for her—particularly when, by chance, she recalled the story Dowson had told her of the bits of crushed and broken leaves.
“A serious person,” she said, “and strong?”
“Because I must earn my own living,” said Robin. “I must be strong enough to take care of myself. I am going to be a governess—or something.”