Robin admitted that everything about her House of Rushing Waters was very different from the Forgotten Village.
"Wasn't that Brina just like a witch with her parrot nose and sharp eyes?"
But Beryl had no patience just now with Robin's beloved fairy lore. Two little lines wrinkled her brow.
"There's something queer about that place or my name isn't Beryl Lynch. And I like to know what's what. Wouldn't it be fun to find out what it is? Whether she's hiding there on account of something or someone's keeping her a prisoner? Maybe—" Beryl lowered her voice, "maybe she's crazy."
"Oh, Beryl, she didn't act a bit crazy. Just very sad. She was nice. I thought the room was lovely, too—and the lunch and that darling dog." Robin had thoroughly enjoyed the simple hospitality and meant to defend it.
"Of course the room was nice," Beryl felt that she showed much patience with Robin's obtuseness, "but didn't you see anything different in that room? Books and magazines! Country people don't sit and read magazines and knit on rose wool in the middle of the afternoon! Robin, that woman's a lady! And you notice she didn't tell us who she was. And a woman with her talking some foreign jibberish."
"Beryl, you're wonderful to notice all these things. I'd never have noticed half of them."
Beryl tossed her head with pride. "Nothing much escapes me," she boasted. "And I think it was a good thing we didn't tell her just who we were. But let's not let a soul know about our finding this place until we unravel the mystery."
Robin hesitated. "She was so nice to us and it's really none of our business why she's there or who she is—" she argued so staunchly that Beryl put in hastily: "Well, let's just have it a secret because secrets are such fun." And to that Robin agreed gladly, for secrets are fun and are always a strengthening bond in true friendship.
"I won't tell a soul!" she promised.