While she strayed airily away they all watched her. She picked up her friend, the Starling, who, not feeling concerned or needed, had paused to look at daffodils. The children watched her until her victoria drove away, the chiffon ruffles of her flowerlike parasol fluttering in the air.
Mrs. Muir had sat down again and Donal and Robin leaned against her. They saw she was not laughing any more but they did not know that her eyes had something like grief in them.
“She’s her Mother!” Donal cried. “She’s lovely, too. But she’s—her Mother!” and his voice and face were equally puzzled.
Robin’s little hand delicately touched Mrs. Muir.
“Is—she?” she faltered.
Helen Muir took her in her arms and held her quite close. She kissed her.
“Yes, she is, my lamb,” she said. “She’s your mother.”
She was clear as to what she must do for Donal’s sake. It was the only safe and sane course. But—at this age—the child was a lamb and she could not help holding her close for a moment. Her little body was deliciously soft and warm and the big silk curls all in a heap were a fragrance against her breast.
CHAPTER X
Donal talked a great deal as he pranced home. Feather had excited as well as allured him. Why hadn’t she told Robin she was her mother? Why did she never show her pictures in the Nursery and hold her on her knee? She was little enough to be held on knees! Did some mothers never tell their children and did the children never find out? This was what he wanted to hear explained. He took the gloved hand near him and held it close and a trifle authoritatively.