Mrs. Muir had sat down again and Donal and Robin leaned against her. They saw she was not laughing any more but they did not know that her eyes had something like grief in them. “She’s her Mother!” Donal cried. “She’s lovely, too. But she’s—her _Mother!_” and his voice and face were equally puzzled. Robin’s little hand delicately touched Mrs. Muir. “_Is_—she?” she faltered. Helen Muir took her in her arms and held her quite close. She kissed her. “Yes, she is, my lamb,” she said. “She’s your mother.” She was clear as to what she must do for Donal’s sake. It was the only safe and sane course. But—at this age—the child _was_ a lamb and she could not help holding her close for a moment. Her little body was deliciously soft and warm and the big silk curls all in a heap were a fragrance against her breast. CHAPTER X Donal talked a great deal as he pranced home. Feather had excited as well as allured him. Why hadn’t she told Robin she was her mother? Why did she never show her pictures in the Nursery and hold her on her knee? She was little enough to be held on knees! Did some mothers never tell their children and did the children never find out? This was what he wanted to hear explained. He took the gloved hand near him and held it close and a trifle authoritatively. “I am glad I know you are my mother,” he said, “I always knew.” He was not sure that the matter was explained very clearly. Not as clearly as things usually were. But he was not really disturbed. He had remembered a book he could show Robin tomorrow and he thought of that. There was also a game in a little box which could be easily carried under his arm. His mother was “thinking” and he was used to that. It came on her sometimes and of his own volition he always, on such occasion, kept as quiet as was humanly possible. After he was asleep, Helen sent for Nanny. “You’re tired, ma’am,” the woman said when she saw her, “I’m afraid you’ve a headache.” “I have had a good deal of thinking to do since this afternoon,” her mistress answered, “You were right about the nurse. The little girl might have been playing with any boy chance sent in her way—boys quite unlike Donal.” “Yes, ma’am.” And because she loved her and knew her face and voice Nanny watched her closely. “You will be as—startled—as I was. By some queer chance the child’s mother was driving by and saw us and came in to speak to me. Nanny—she is Mrs. Gareth-Lawless.” Nanny did start; she also reddened and spoke sharply. “And she came in and spoke to you, ma’am!” “Things have altered and are altering every day,” Mrs. Muir said. “Society is not at all inflexible. She has a smart set of her own—and she is very pretty and evidently well provided for. Easy-going people who choose to find explanations suggest that her husband was a relation of Lord Lawdor’s.”