This notwithstanding, there was at last a morning when Robin looked as though she had not slept well. It was so unusual a thing that the Duchess spoke of it. "I hope you have not been sitting up late at your work?" she said. "No. Thank you," Robin answered. "I went to bed last night at ten o'clock." The Duchess looked at her seriously. Never before had she seen her with eyes whose misted heaviness suggested tears. Was it possible that there seemed something at once strained and quivering about her mouth--as if she were making an effort to force the muscles to hold it still. "I hope you would tell me if you had a headache. You must, you know, my dear." Robin's slight movement nearer to her had the air of being almost involuntary--as if it were impelled by an uncontrollable yearning to be a little near _something_--some one. The strained and quivering look was even more noticeable and her lifted eyes singularly expressed something she was trying to hold back. "Thank you--indeed!" she said. "But it isn't headache. It is--things I could not help thinking about in the night." The Duchess took her hand and patted it with firm gentleness. "You mustn't, my dear. You must try hard _not_ to do it. We shall be of no use if we let our minds go. We must try to force ourselves into a sort of deafness and blindness in certain directions. I am trying--with all my might." "I know I must," Robin answered not too steadily. "I must--more than most people. I'm not brave and strong. I'm weak and cowardly--cowardly." Her breath caught itself and she went on quickly, "Work helps more than anything else. I want to _work_ all the time. Please may I begin the letters now?" She was bending over her desk when Lord Coombe came in earlier than was his custom. The perfection of his dress, his smooth creaselessness and quiet harmony of color and line seemed actually to add to the aged look of his face. His fine rigidity was worn and sallowed. After his greeting phrases he stood for a space quite silent while the Duchess watched him as if waiting. "He has gone?" she said presently. She spoke in quite a low voice, but it reached Robin's desk. "Yes. At dawn. The suddenness and secrecy of these goings add to the poignancy of them. I saw him but he did not see me. I found out the hour and made an effort. He is not my boy, but I wanted to _look_ at him. It was perhaps for the last time. Good God! What a crime!" He spoke low himself and rather quickly and with a new tone in his voice--as if he had been wrenched and was in pain. "I am not in a heroic mood. I was only sick and furious when I watched them go by. They were a handsome, clean-built lot. But he stood out--the finest among them. His mere beauty and strength brought hideous thoughts into one's mind--thoughts of German deviltries born of hell."