"Harkness will help if I ask him and maybe Williams, too. And Mrs. Williams."
"It's quite tidy for standing empty so long," mused Mrs. Lynch, sweeping the bare rooms with an appraising eye. "That stove's good as new under the rust."
"Oh, you will help, won't you? I can't do anything without you."
"That I will, Miss Robin." Mrs. Moira promised with no thought of the added tax it must be on her energy. "It's a beginning everything has to have and you get your Harkness man and some brooms and some soap and we'll have your little House of Laughter ready to begin in no time."
A half hour later Robin burst upon Beryl absorbed in her practicing.
"Oh, please listen," she cried and without waiting for encouragement poured out her precious plans. Beryl obediently listened but with an odd surprise tugging at her attentiveness—this Robin seemed different, full of a fire that was quite new, and all over fixing up that old place for the Mill kids. To Beryl, wrapped in her own precious ambition, that seemed a ridiculous waste of energy. However she concealed her scorn, affected a lively interest and put in a few helpful suggestions.
"Mr. Tubbs has been hunting for you," she suddenly informed Robin. "I heard him talking to Harkness about a party. Your guardian's written to him, I guess."
"Oh, dear!" cried Robin, in dismay. She remembered what Mr. Allendyce had written to her. A party would be terrible!
"I should think you'd think it was fun—and with all your pretty clothes. It's exciting meeting people, too. If I were you—"
Beryl simply wouldn't finish—there were so many things she would do if she were Gordon Forsyth, she could not begin to name them.