"But, Robin—" The man turned from the child to Dale.
"I found her way down by Sheridan Square. She was hunting for her doll she'd left there."
"While I was walking with Mr. Tony this afternoon I played in the park and I forgot Cynthia."
"Good Heavens—and you went way off there all by yourself to find the thing?"
In her pride of Dale, Robin overlooked the slur on Cynthia.
"I went alone," she repeated, "but I came home with my Prince."
Gradually Robin's father was recovering from his shock. The muscles of his face relaxed; he ran his fingers through his thick hair, red like the child's, with a gesture of throwing off some horrible nightmare. To Dale he looked very boyish—with a little of Robin's own cherubic expression.
"Well, say, you gave me a fright, child. And you must promise not to do it again. Why, I can't ever leave you alone unless you do."
He turned to Dale, who stood, lingering, loath to leave the little Robin under the doubtful protection her Jimmie offered. "I'm no end grateful to you, my boy. If there's anything I can do for you—" He slipped one hand mechanically into his pocket.
"I don't want anything." Dale spoke curtly and stepped back. "It wasn't any bother; it's a nice night to walk."