“Reason has nothing to do with it. You must have faith. You must just believe what you’re told not think at all. Thinking is wickedness—unless you think what you hear preached.” Feather was even a trifle delicately smug as she rattled off her orthodoxy—but she laughed after she had done with it. “But it _must_ have been funny—a Turk or a Hindoo in a turban and a thing like a tea gown and Mrs. Muir in her Edinburgh looking clothes talking about God.” “You are quite out of it,” Coombe did not smile at all as he said it. “The Oriental was as physically beautiful as Donal Muir is. And Mrs. Muir—no other woman in the room compared with her. Perhaps people who think grow beautiful.” Feather was not often alluring or coquettish in her manner to Coombe but she tilted her head prettily and looked down at her flower through lovely lashes. “_I_ don’t think,” she said. “And I am not so bad looking.” “No,” he answered coldly. “You are not. At times you look like a young angel.” “If Mrs. Muir is like that,” she said after a brief pause, “I should like to know what she thinks of me?” “No, you would not—neither should I—if she thinks at all,” was his answer. “But you remember you said you did not mind that sort of thing.” “I don’t. Why should I? It can’t harm me.” Her hint of a pout made her mouth entrancing. “But, if she thinks good looks are the result of religiousness I should like to let her see Robin—and compare her with her boy. I saw Robin in the park last week and she’s a perfect beauty.” “Last week?” said Coombe. “She doesn’t need anyone but Andrews. I should bore her to death if I went and sat in the Nursery and stared at her. No one does that sort of thing in these days. But I should like to see Mrs. Muir to see the two children together!” “That could not easily be arranged, I am afraid,” he said. “Why not?” His answer was politely deliberate. “She greatly disapproves of me, I have told you. She is not proud of the relationship.” “She does not like _me_ you mean?” “Excuse me. I mean exactly what I said in telling you that she has her own very strong views of the boy’s training and surroundings. They may be ridiculous but that sort of thing need not trouble you.” Feather held up her hand and actually laughed. “If Robin meets him in ten years from now—_that_ for her very strong views of his training and surroundings!” And she snapped her fingers.