"Oh, don't!" cried Robin. As if she could let him thank her for Mother Lynch—as if the debt were not on her side. They had reached the Manor gate now and Dale handed her the packages.
"Everything will come out all right, Miss Robin, so don't you be worrying your little head," he admonished and strangely enough Robin answered him with a smile. He was different.
But Robin's "bad" day had not ended yet. Beryl's "sulk" had grown, like the gathering clouds of an impending storm, into a big gloom that did not lighten even when, after dinner, the girls were left alone in the library with their beloved "one thousand and seventy-four" books. From over the edge of "Vanity Fair" Robin watched anxiously the preoccupation and shadow on Beryl's face.
(Oh, why had she changed that inside-out stocking!)
"Beryl, what is the matter?"
"There is. You won't read or talk or—anything."
"Well, I don't feel like it."
"What do you feel like—inside?" persisted Robin.
"Like—nothing. Just like it."