She wakened smiling at the dingy ceiling of the dingy room. There was but one tiny shadow in the world, which was the fear that Andrews would get well too quickly. She was no longer in bed but was well enough to sit up and sew a little before the tiny fire in the atom of a servant’s room grate. The doctor would not let her go out yet; therefore, Anne still remained in charge. Founding one’s hope on previous knowledge of Anne’s habits, she might be trusted to sit and read and show no untoward curiosity. From her bed Robin could see the sky was blue. That meant that she would be taken out. She lay as quiet as a mouse and thought of the joy before her, until Anne came to dress her and give her her breakfast. “We’ll put on your rose-coloured smock this morning,” the girl said, when the dressing began. “I like the hat and socks that match.” Anne was not quite like Andrews who was not talkative. She made a conversational sort of remark after she had tied the white shoes. “You’ve got pretty little aristocratic legs of your own,” she said amiably. “I like my children to have nice legs.” Robin was uplifted in spirit by the commendation, but she hoped Anne would put on her own things quickly. Sometimes she was rather a long time. The one course, however, towards which discretion pointed as entirely safe was the continuance of being as quiet as a mouse—even quieter, if such thing might be—so that nothing might interfere with anything any one wanted to do. To interfere would have been to attract attention and might lead to delay. So she stood and watched the sparrows inoffensively until Anne called her. When she found herself out on the street her step was so light on the pavement that she was rather like a rose petal blown fluttering along by soft vagrant puffs of spring air. Under her flopping hat her eyes and lips and cheeks were so happy that more than one passer-by turned head over shoulder to look after her. “Your name ought to be Rose,” Anne giggled involuntarily as she glanced down at her because someone had stared. She had not meant to speak but the words said themselves. Because the time was young June even London sky and air were wonderful. Stray breaths of fragrance came and went. The green of the trees in the Gardens was light and fresh and in the bedded-out curves and stars and circles there were more flowers every hour, so that it seemed as if blooming things with scents grew thick about one’s feet. It was no wonder one felt light and smiled back at nurses and governesses who looked up. Robin drew eyes became she was like a summer bloom suddenly appearing in the Spring Garden.