They saw her again a few days later and talked a little more. She was not always near the Pond when they came, and they naturally did not go there each time they walked together, though Fräulein Hirsch was fond of sitting and watching the children.
She had been to take tea with her former employer, she told Robin one day, and she was mildly excited by the preparations for Hélène, who had been educated entirely in a French convent and was not like an English girl at all. She had always been very delicate and the nuns seemed to know how to take care of her and calm her nerves with their quiet ways.
“Her mother is rather anxious about her coming to London. She has, of course, no young friends here and she is so used to the quiet of convent life,” the Fräulein explained. “That is why the rooms at the top of the house have been arranged for her. She will hear so little sound. I confess I am anxious about her myself. Lady Etynge is wondering if she can find a suitable young companion to live in the house with her. She must be a young lady and perfectly educated—and with brightness and charm. Not a person like myself, but one who can be treated as an equal and a friend—almost a playmate.”
“It would be an agreeable position,” commented Robin, thoughtfully.
“Extremely so,” answered Fräulein Hirsch. “Hélène is a most lovable and affectionate girl. And Lady Etynge is rich enough to pay a large salary. Hélène is her idol. The suite of rooms is perfect. In Germany, girls are not spoiled in that way. It is not considered good for them.”
It was quite natural, since she felt an interest in Hélène, that, on their next meeting, Robin should find pleasure in sitting on the green bench near the girl’s mother and hear her speak of her daughter. She was not diffuse or intimate in her manner. Hélène first appeared in the talk as a result of a polite inquiry made by Fräulein Hirsch. Robin gathered, as she listened, that this particular girl was a tenderly loved and cared for creature and was herself gentle and intelligent and loving. She sounded like the kind of a girl one would be glad to have for a friend. Robin wondered and wondered—if she would “do.” Perhaps, out of tactful consideration for the feelings of Fräulein Hirsch who would not “do”—because she was neither bright, nor pretty, nor a girl—Lady Etynge touched but lightly on her idea that she might find a sort of sublimated young companion for her daughter.
“It would be difficult to advertise for what one wants,” she said.
“Yes. To state that a girl must be clever and pretty and graceful, and attractive, would make it difficult for a modest young lady to write a suitable reply,” said Fräulein Hirsch grimly, and both Lady Etynge and Robin smiled.
“Among your own friends,” Lady Etynge said to Robin, a little pathetically in her yearning, “do you know of anyone—who might know of anyone who would fit in? Sometimes there are poor little cousins, you know?”
“Or girls who have an independent spirit and would like to support themselves,” said the Fräulein. “There are such girls in these advanced times.”