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Miss Milligan was evidently in a hurry, so great a hurry that she had not time to question Bubble upon affairs in general as was her usual custom. Instead she asked him to do something for her. It was a trifling service, only to deliver to Mrs. Coombe a small postal packet which she held in her hand. "It will only take you a few moments, Zerubbabel," she said.
"I don't know what foolish fancy prompted it, but about halfway up the coombe I stopped short and asked: "'There are no ghosts, I suppose? "It struck me, a moment after I had uttered it, as a supremely silly question; but he took it quite seriously. 'No; I never heard tell of any ghosts. He laid a queer sort of stress on the word.
I know her perfectly though I only saw her portrait at the Academy years ago. Yes, there she is. Mrs. Muir, you know." She clapped her hands and her laugh became a delighted giggle. "And my Robin is playing on the grass near her with a boy! What a joke! And I wanted to see the pair together. Coombe said couldn't be done. And more than anything I want to speak to HER. Let's get out."
Lord Coombe still sat silent. What he was thinking could not be read in his face but being a man of astute perception and used to the study of faces Dr. Redcliff knew that suddenly some startling thought had leaped within him. "You were right to come to me," he said. "What is it you suspect?" That Dr. Redcliff was almost unbearably moved was manifest.
That a Feather should become a parent gave rise to much wit of light weight when Robin in the form of a bundle of lace was carried down by her nurse to be exhibited in the gaudy crowded little drawing-room in the slice of a house in the Mayfair street. It was the Head of the House of Coombe who asked the first question about her. "What will you DO with her?" he inquired detachedly.
Dawson could not help her start. "Lord Coombe!" she exclaimed. Robin came close to her and ground her little fist into her knee, until its plumpness felt almost bruised. "He is bad bad bad!" and she looked like a little demon. Being a wise woman, Dowson knew at once that she had come upon a hidden child volcano, and it would be well to let it seethe into silence.
The Duchess was seeing again the two who had come forth shining from the conservatory. She continued to see them as Lord Coombe went on speaking, telling her what Dr. Redcliff had told him. On her part Robin scarcely understood anything which was happening because nothing seemed to matter. On the morning when the Duchess told her that Dr.
Jennings was rather pleased by the word "forthcoming" and therefore he repeated it with emphasis, "It wouldn't be FORTHCOMING." "That'd frighten her," was Andrews' succinct observation. "It did!" said Jennings. "She'd have gone in hysterics if he hadn't kept her down. He's got a way with him, Coombe has." Andrews laughed, a brief, dry laugh. "Do you know what the child calls her?" she said.
"Mothers are not as intimate with their daughters as they used to be when it was a sort of virtuous fashion to superintend their rice pudding and lecture them about their lessons. We have not seen each other often." "No," said Robin. Feather's laugh had again the rather high note Coombe had noticed. "You haven't very much to say, have you?" she commented.
He was clever enough but not too clever and he was friends with the world. Braemarnie was picturesquely ancient and beautiful. It would be a home of sufficient ease and luxury to be a pleasure but no burden. Life in it could be perfect and also supply freedom. Coombe Court and Coombe Keep were huge and castellated and demanded great things.
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