Chapter 12 - Page 2

and speaking to
her almost affectionately because she was so attractive an object as
well as so industriously faithful to her work. Girls who were
Jacqueminot-rose flushed and who looked up to answer people with eyes
like an antelope's were not customarily capable of concentrating their
attention entirely upon brief letters of request and lists of
necessaries for hospitals and comfort kits. This type was admitted to be
frequently found readier for service in the preparation of
entertainments "for the benefit of"--more especially when such benefits
took the form of dancing. But the Duchess' little Miss Lawless came and
went on errands, wasting no time. She never forgot things or was slack
in any way. Her antelope eyes expressed a kind of yearning eagerness to
do all she could without a moment's delay.

"She works as if it were a personal thing with her," Lady Lothwell once
said thoughtfully. "I have seen girls wear that look when they are war
brides or have lovers or brothers at the front."

But she remained to the world generally only a rather specially lovely
specimen of the somewhat unreal young being with whom great agonies and
terrors had but little to do.

On a day when the Duchess had a cold and was obliged to remain in her
room Robin was with her, writing and making notes of instruction at her
bedside. In the afternoon a cold and watery sun making its way through
the window threw a chill light on her as she drew near with some papers
in her hand. It was the revealing of this light which made the Duchess
look at her curiously.

"You are not quite as blooming as you were, my child," she said. "About
two months ago you were particularly blooming. Lady Lothwell and Lord
Coombe and several other people noticed it. You have not been taking
your walks as regularly as you did. Let me look at you." She took her
hand and drew her nearer. "No. This will not do."

Robin stood very still.

"How could _any_ one be blooming!" broke from her.

"You are thinking about things in the night again," said the Duchess.

"Yes," said Robin. "Every night. Sometimes all night."

The Duchess watched her anxiously.

"It's so--lonely!" There was a hint of hysteric breakdown in the
exclamation. "How can I--_bear_ it!" She turned and went back to her
writing table and there she sat down and hid her face, trembling in an
extraordinary way.

"You are as unhappy as that?" said the Duchess. "And you are _lonely_?"

"All the world is lonely," Robin cried--not weeping, only shaking.
"Everything is left to itself to suffer. God has gone