She felt only a vague wonder as she did as Andrews told her—wonder at the strangeness of getting up to be dressed, as it seemed to her, in the middle of the night. “It’s just the kind of thing that would happen in a house like this,” grumbled Andrews, as she put on her frock. “Just anything that comes into their heads they think they’ve a right to do. I suppose they have, too. If you’re rich and aristocratic enough to have your own way, why not take it? I would myself.” The big silk curls, all in a heap, fell almost to the child’s hips. The frock Andrews chose for her was a fairy thing. “She _is_ a bit thin, to be sure,” said the girl Anne. “But it points her little face and makes her eyes look bigger.” “If her mother’s got a Marquis, I wonder what she’ll get,” said Andrews. “She’s got a lot before her: this one!” When the child entered the drawing-room, Andrews made her go in alone, while she held herself, properly, a few paces back like a lady in waiting. The room was brilliantly lighted and seemed full of colour and people who were laughing. There were pretty things crowding each other everywhere, and there were flowers on all sides. The Lady Downstairs, in a sheathlike sparkling dress, and only a glittering strap seeming to hold it on over her fair undressed shoulders, was talking to a tall thin man standing before the fireplace with a gold cup of coffee in his hand. As the little thing strayed in, with her rather rigid attendant behind her, suddenly the laughing ceased and everybody involuntarily drew a half startled breath—everybody but the tall thin man, who quietly turned and set his coffee cup down on the mantel piece behind him. “Is _this_ what you have been keeping up your sleeve!” said Harrowby, settling his _pince nez_. “I told you!” said the Starling. “You couldn’t tell us,” Vesey’s veiled voice dropped in softly. “It must be seen to be believed. But still—” aside to Feather, “I don’t believe it.” “Enter, my only child!” said Feather. “Come here, Robin. Come to your mother.” Now was the time! Robin went to her and took hold of a very small piece of her sparkling dress. “_Are_ you my Mother?” she said. And then everybody burst into a peal of laughter, Feather with the rest. “She calls me the Lady Downstairs,” she said. “I really believe she doesn’t know. She’s rather a stupid little thing.” “Amazing lack of filial affection,” said Lord Coombe. He was not laughing like the rest and he was looking down at Robin. She thought him ugly and wicked looking. Vesey and Harrowby were beautiful by contrast. Before she knew who he was, she disliked him. She looked at him askance under her eyelashes, and he saw her do it before her mother spoke his name, taking her by the tips of her fingers and leading her to him.