“Yes, I did, Miss Robin.”
The child drew near her after a full minute of hesitation.
“I will kiss you!” she said solemnly, and performed the rite as whole-souledly as Donal had done.
“Dear little mite!” exclaimed the surprised Dowson. “Dear me!” And there was actual moisture in her eyes as she squeezed the small body in her arms.
“She’s the strangest mite I ever nursed,” was her comment to Mrs. Blayne below stairs. “It was so sudden, and she did it as if she’d never done it before. I’d actually been thinking she hadn’t any feeling at all.”
“No reason why she should have. She’s been taken care of by the clock and dressed like a puppet, but she’s not been treated human!” broke forth Mrs. Blayne.
Then the whole story was told—the “upstairs” story with much vivid description, and the mentioning of many names and the dotting of many “i’s”. Dowson had heard certain things only through vague rumour, but now she knew and began to see her way. She had not heard names before, and the definite inclusion of Lord Coombe’s suggested something to her.
“Do you think the child could be jealous of his lordship?” she suggested.
“She might if she knew anything about him—but she never saw him until the night she was taken down into the drawing-room. She’s lived upstairs like a little dog in its kennel.”
“Well,” Dowson reflected aloud, “it sounds almost silly to talk of a child’s hating any one, but that bit of a thing’s eyes had fair hate in them when she looked up at him where he stood. That was what puzzled me.”