No immediate change was made in her life during the days that followed.
She sat at her desk, writing letters, referring to notes and lists and
answering questions as sweetly and faithfully as she had always done
from the first. She tried to remember every detail and she also tried to
keep before her mind that she must not let people guess that she was
thinking of other things--or rather trying not to think of them. It was
as though she stood guard over a dark background of thought, of which
others must know nothing. It was a background which belonged to herself
and which would always be there. Sometimes when she lifted her eyes she
found the Duchess looking at her and then she realised that the Duchess
knew it was there too.
She began to notice that almost everybody looked at her in a kindly
slightly troubled way. Very important matrons and busy excited girls who
ran in and out on errands had the same order of rather evasive glance.
"You have no cough, my dear, have you?" more than one amiable grand lady
asked her.
"No, thank you--none at all," Robin answered and she was nearly always
patted on the shoulder as her questioner left her.
Kathryn sitting by her desk one morning, watching her as she wrote a
note, suddenly put her hand out and stopped her.
"Let me look at your wrist, Robin," she said and she took it between her
fingers.
"Oh! What a little wrist!" she exclaimed. "I--I am sure Grandmamma has
not seen it. Grandmamma--" aloud to the Duchess, "_Have_ you seen
Robin's wrist? It looks as if it would snap in two."
There were only three or four people in the room and they were all
intimates and looked interested.
"It is only that I am a little thin," said Robin. "Everybody is thinner
than usual. It is nothing."
The Duchess' kind look somehow took in those about her in her answer.
"You are too thin, my dear," she said. "I must tell you frankly,
Kathryn, that you will be called upon to take her place. I am going to
send her away into the wilds. The War only ceases for people who are
sent into wild places. Dr. Redcliff is quite fixed in that opinion.
People who need taking care of must be literally hidden away in corners
where war vibrations cannot reach them. He has sent Emily Clare away and
even her friends do not know where she is."
Later in the day Lady Lothwell came and in the course of a few minutes
drew near to her mother and sat by her chair rather closely. She spoke
in a lowered voice.
"I am so glad, mamma darling, that you are going to send poor little
Miss Lawless into retreat for a rest cure," she began. "It's so tactless
to continually chivy people about their health, but I own that I can
scarcely resist saying to the child every time I see her, 'Are you any
better today?' or, 'Have you any cough?' or, 'How is your appetite?' I
have not wanted to trouble you about her but the truth is we all find
ourselves talking her over. The point of her chin is growing actually
sharp. What is Mrs. Gareth-Lawless doing?" curtly.
"Giving dinners and bridge parties to officers on leave. Robin never
sees her."
"Of course the woman does not want her about. She is too lovely for
officers' bridge parties," rather sharply again.
"Mrs. Gareth-Lawless is not the person one would naturally turn to for
sympathy in trouble. Illness would present itself to her mind as a sort
of outrage." The Duchess herself spoke in a low tone and her eyes
wandered for a moment or so to the corner where Robin sat among her
papers.
"She is a sensitive child," she said, "and I have not wanted to alarm
her by telling her she must give up the work her heart is in. I have
seen for some time that she must have an entire holiday and that she
must leave London behind her utterly for a while. Dr. Redcliff knows of
the right remote sort of place for her. It is really quite settled. She
will do as I advise her. She is very obedient."
"Mamma," murmured Lady Lothwell who was furtively regarding Robin
also--and it must be confessed with a dewy eye--"I suppose it is because
I have Kathryn--but I feel a sort of pull at my heart when I remember
how the little thing _bloomed_ only a few months ago! She was radiant
with life and joy and youngness. It's the contrast that almost frightens
one. Something has actually gone. Does Doctor Redcliff think--_Could_
she be going to die? Somehow," with a tremulous breath, "one always
thinks of death now."
"No! No!" the Duchess answered. "Dr. Redcliff says she is not in real
danger. Nourishment and relaxed strain and quiet will supply what she
needs. But I will ask you, Millicent, to explain to people. I am too
tired to answer questions. I realise that I have actually begun to love
the child and I don't want to hear amiable people continuously
suggesting the probability that she is in galloping consumption--and
proposing remedies."
"Will she go soon?" Lady Lothwell asked.
"As soon as Dr. Redcliff has decided between two heavenly little
places--one in Scotland and one in Wales. Perhaps next week or a week
later. Things must be prepared for her comfort."
Lady Lothwell went home and talked a little to Kathryn who listened with
sympathetic intelligence.
"It would have been better not to have noticed her poor little wrists,"
she said. "Years ago I believe that telling people that they looked ill
and asking anxiously about their symptoms was regarded as a form of
affection and politeness, but it isn't done at all now."
"I know, mamma!" Kathryn returned remorsefully. "But somehow there was
something so pathetic in her little thin hand writing so fast--and the
way her eyelashes lay on a sort of hollow of shadow instead of a soft
cheek-- I took it in suddenly all at once-- And I almost burst out
crying without intending to do it. Oh, mamma!" throwing out her hand to
clutch her mother's, "Since--since George--! I seem to cry so suddenly!
Don't--don't you?"
"Yes--yes!" as they slipped into each other's arms. "We all
do--everybody--everybody!"
Their weeping was not loud but soft. Kathryn's girl voice had a low
violin-string wail in it and was infinitely touching in its innocent
love and pity.
"It's because one feels as if it _couldn't_ be true--as if he _must_ be
somewhere! George--good nice George. So good looking and happy and silly
and dear! And we played and fought together when we were children. Oh!
To _kill_ George--George!"
When they sat upright again with wet eyes and faces Kathryn added,
"And he was only _one_! And that beautiful Donal Muir who danced with
Robin at Grandmamma's party! And people actually _stared_ at them, they
looked so happy and beautiful." She paused and thought a moment. "Do you
know, mamma, I couldn't help believing he would fall in love with her if
he saw her often--and I wondered what Lord Coombe would think. But he
never did see her again. And now--! You know what they said about--not
even _finding_ him!"
"It is better that they did not meet again. If they had it would be easy
to understand why the poor girl looks so ill."
"Yes, I'm glad for her that it isn't that. That would have been much
worse. Being sent away to quiet places to rest might have been no good."
"But even as it is, mamma is more anxious I am sure than she likes to
own to herself. You and I must manage to convey to people that it is
better not even to verge on making fussy inquiries. Mamma has too many
burdens on her mind to be as calm as she used to be."
It was an entirely uncomplicated situation. It became understood that
the Duchess had become much attached to her companion as a result of her
sweet faithfulness to her work. She and Dr. Redcliff had taken her in
charge and prepared for her comfort and well-being in the most complete
manner. A few months would probably end in a complete recovery. There
were really no special questions even for the curious to ask and no one
was curious. There was no time for curiosity. So Robin disappeared from
her place at the small desk in the corner of the Duchess' sitting room
and Kathryn took her place and used her pen.