n't dress up, Beryl. I just thought your mother would like to have
me--out of respect to her party. I didn't think you wouldn't like it.
But if you think I'm going down there to stare around at the things in
the house and pick to pieces the dishes and the food--you're wrong,
Beryl. I think your mother must be a wonderful woman and I am just crazy
to meet her and I know I'm going to love your father and I never talked
to a boy in my whole life except in school when I had to! There!" Robin
stopped for very lack of breath.

This unexpected show of spirit, so unlike Robin's usual gentleness, took
Beryl back. Fond as she was of her mother she had never thought of her
as exactly "wonderful" or of anyone wanting to know her, or her poor,
crippled father, or Dale. She laughed a little shamefacedly.

"Oh, wear what you want to, Robin. I suppose I'm jealous because I
haven't anything except that old gray thing that's just tottering with
age. What a joke to call Dale a boy! Why, he's never been a boy, because
he's worked so hard for everything."

"Well, I'm glad I'm going to meet him, anyway." Robin spoke with
excitement. It did not matter at all what she wore--without a moment's
hesitation she put away the blue and the yellow dress and brought forth
the mouse colored jersey she had worn when she arrived at Gray
Manor--she was going to meet Beryl's family. Robin, who had never had
any family except "Jimmie," imagined beautiful things of family life,
mostly colored by books she had read and pictures she had seen. Brothers
were always big strong fellows who sometimes teased their younger
sisters but were always ready with a helping hand; fathers--well, she
knew about fathers, having had Jimmie, but Beryl's father must be very
different because of his accident. It was "Mom" that she most wanted to
know. She hoped Beryl's mother would kiss her. At the thought her heart
gave a quick little beat.

When Percival Tubbs, to whom Harkness, uncertain as to the propriety of
a Forsyth dining at one of the Mill cottages had appealed, had mildly
endeavored to point out to Robin that this dinner-party was not exactly
"fitting," Robin had simply not been able to understand and had answered
so honestly: "Why, just because I'm a Forsyth doesn't make me a bit
better than those people who work in the Mills, does it?" That Mr. Tubbs
had abandoned his point with a mental reservation not unlike Mrs.
Budge's beloved: "Things _are_ going to sixes and se