“She is only a few yards away,” said Mrs. Muir. “She knows Robin is playing with my boy and that I am watching them. Robin is your little girl?” amiably.
“Yes. So kind of you to let her play with your boy. Don’t let her bore you. I am Mrs. Gareth-Lawless.”
There was a little silence—a delicate little silence.
“I recognized you as Mrs. Muir at once,” said Feather, unperturbed and smiling brilliantly, “I saw your portrait at the Grosvenor.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Muir gently. She had risen and was beautifully tall,—“the line” was perfect, and she looked with a gracious calm into Feather’s eyes.
Donal, allured by the hyacinth petal colours, drew near. Robin made an unconscious little catch at his plaid and whispered something.
“Is this Donal?” Feather said.
“Are you the Lady Downstairs, please?” Donal put in politely, because he wanted so to know.
Feather’s pretty smile ended in the prettiest of outright laughs. Her maid had told her Andrews’ story of the name.
“Yes, I believe that’s what she calls me. It’s a nice name for a mother, isn’t it?”