to discover, was very constant with her. It was as though she were
always watching something of absorbing interest which no one else could
see. Sometimes it amused her, and and then a flicker of laughter ran
up from her mouth to her grey eyes and danced there. At other times
she was sorry. Her face was like still water, ruffled by invisible
winds and mirroring distant clouds and sunshine.

Robert had watched her, motionless and unobserved, for several minutes.
It had been a very unhappy day. Christine had gone off in a great
hurry on some dark errand in the city connected with "raising money" on
a reversion and had forgotten to wash him, and though he did not like
being washed, the process did at least make him feel that someone cared
about him. Now at sight of this strange little girl an almost
overpowering desire to cry had come over him--to fling himself into
someone's arms and cry his heart out.

She had not sat there for long. She had got up and moved
about--flitted rather--so that Robert, who had never heard of a
metaphor, thought of a brown leaf dancing in little gusts of wind. And
then suddenly she had seen him and stood still. His heart had begun to
pound against his ribs. For it was just like that that in his dreams
his mother stood, looking at him. She, too, had grey eyes, serene and
grave, penetrating into one's very heart.

And after a moment she had smiled.

"Hallo!"

Robert's voice, half choked with tears had croaked back "Hallo!" and
she had come a little nearer to him.