"Where are they going to eat?"
"The ladies? Oh, the children. I've told Harkness to put a table in the conservatory and make it Christmasy."
"You're clever, Robin. Harkness will do it for you—but, oh, he'll hate it; I can hear him—'things aren't like they used to be.' As my father'd say-you're killing the goose that lays the golden egg, all righto. Budge will tell Madame, sure's anything."
"What do you mean?" asked Robin quietly, a little gleam in her eyes.
"Why, stupid, the Forsyths aren't going to stand for that sort of thing. They'll send you back—"
"Beryl, do you think I'm staying here for the Forsyth money—or—or care about it? I came here so that Jimmie could go away without worrying about me. When he comes home I shall go back to him, of course."
"Leave Gray Manor?" Beryl's voice rang incredulously.
"Of course. I like it here and there are lots of things I want to do, but when Jimmie comes back—if he wants me—" her voice trembled.
Beryl stared at Robin as though she saw a strange creature in the familiar guise. "You are the queerest girl. You don't seem to care for the things money can get for you!" She had to pause, to pick her words. "Why, if I had the chance—all the advantages, and taking lovely trips, and the fun. You could go to one of these girls' schools and play tennis and golf and ride horseback! And always have pretty clothes!" The bitter edge to Beryl's voice betrayed how much she would like these things.
"Would you desert your mother and—and Dale for things like that? Would you?"