"May I come and see you?" said Robin.

Juliet, seated under an apple-tree in the tiny orchard that ran beside the road, looked up from her book and saw his thin face peering at her through the hedge. She smiled at him very kindly from under her flower-decked shelter.

"Of course!" she said. "Come in by all means!"

She expected him to go round to the gate, but he surprised her by going down on all fours and crawling through a gap in the privet. He looked like a monstrous baboon shuffling towards her. When through, he stood up again, a shaggy lock of hair falling across his forehead, and looked at her with eyes that seemed to burn in their deep hollows like distant lamps at night.

He stopped, several paces from her. "Sure you don't mind me?" he said.

"Quite sure," said Juliet, with quiet sincerity. "I am very pleased to see you. Wait while I fetch another chair!"

She would have risen with the words, but he stopped her with a gesture almost violent. "No—no—no!" He nearly shouted the words. "Don't get up! Don't go! I don't want a chair."

Juliet remained seated. "Just as you like," she said, smiling at him.
"But I don't think the grass is dry enough to sit on."

He looked contemptuous. "It won't hurt me. I hate chairs. I'll do as I like."

But he still stood, glowering at her uncertainly near the hedge.

"Come along then!" said Juliet kindly. "Come and sit down near me! Why not?"

He came slowly, and let himself down with awkward, lumbering movements by her side. His face was darkly sullen. "I don't see any harm in it," he grumbled, "if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind!" she said. "I am pleased. As you see, I have no other visitors."

He lifted his heavy eyes to hers. "You'd pack me off fast enough if you had."

"No, I shouldn't. Don't be silly, Robin!" She smiled down upon him. "You are going to stay and have tea with me, aren't you?"

He smiled rather doubtfully in answer. "I'd like to. I don't know if I can though."

"Why shouldn't you?" she questioned.

He folded his long arms about his knees, and murmured something unintelligible.

Juliet looked at her watch. "Mrs. Rickett has promised to bring it in another quarter-of-an-hour, and we will ask her to bring out Freddy too, shall we? You'll like that."

The boy's face brightened a little. He did not speak for a moment or two; then he reached forth a claw-like hand and tentatively fingered her dress. "I don't want Freddy—when I've got you," he muttered.

"Oh, don't you? How kind!" said Juliet.

Again his dark eyes lifted. "It's you that's kind," he said. "I've never seen anyone like you before." His brow clouded again as he looked at her. "You're quite as much a lady as Mrs. Fielding," he said. "But you don't call me a 'hideous abortion'."

"I should think not!" Juliet moved impulsively and laid her hand upon his humped shoulder. "Don't listen to such things, Robin! Put them out of your head! They are not true."

He rested his chin upon her hand, looking up at her dumbly. Her heart stirred within her. The pathos of those eyes was more than she could meet unmoved. Their protest made her think of an animal in pain.

"It doesn't do to take things too seriously, Robin," she said gently. "There are people in the world who will say unkind things of anybody. It's just because they are thoughtless generally. It doesn't do to listen."

"No one ever said anything unkind about you," he said.

"Oh, didn't they?" Juliet smiled. "Do you know, Robin, I shouldn't wonder if there are plenty of them saying unkind things about me this very moment—that is, if they are thinking about me at all."

He glanced around him savagely. "Where? I'd like to hear 'em! I'd kill 'em!"

"No—no!" said Juliet, restraining him. "And it's no one here either. But you've got to realize that it doesn't really matter what people say. They'll always talk, you know. Everyone does. It's the way of the world, and we can't get away from it."

Robin looked unconvinced. "I'd kill anyone who said anything bad about you anyway," he said.

"I don't think you ought to talk like that," said Juliet, in her quiet way.

"Why not?" His eyes suddenly glowered again.

But she answered him with absolute calmness. "Because if you mean it, it's wrong—very wrong. And if you don't mean it, it's just foolish."

"Oh!" said Robin. He edged himself nearer to her. "I like you," he said.
"Talk some more! I like your voice."

"What shall I talk about?" she asked.

"Tell me about London!" he said.

"Oh, London! My dear boy, you'd hate London. It's all noise and crowds and dust. The streets are crammed with cars and people and there is never any peace. It's like a great wheel that is never still."

"What do the people do?" he asked.

"They just tear about from morning till night, and very often from night till morning. Everyone is always trying to be first and to be a little smarter than anyone else. They think they enjoy it." Juliet drew a sudden hard breath. "But they really don't. It's such a whirl, such a strain, like always running at top speed in a race and never getting there. Yes, it's just that—a sort of obstacle race, and the obstacles always getting higher and higher and higher." She stopped and uttered a deep slow sigh. "Well, I've done with it, Robin. I'm not going to get over any more. I've dropped out. I'm going to grow old in comfort."

Robin was listening with deep interest. "Is that why you came here?" he said.

"Yes. I was tired out and rather scared. I got away just in time—only just in time."

Something in her voice, low though it was, made him draw nearer still, massively, protectively.

"Are you hiding from someone?" he said.

"Oh, not exactly." She patted his shoulder gently. "No one would take the trouble to come and look for me," she said. "They're all much too busy with their own affairs."

His eyes sought hers again. "You're not frightened then any more?"

She smiled at him. "No, not a bit. I've got over that, and I'm beginning to enjoy myself."

"Shall you stay here always?" he questioned.

"I don't know, Robin. I'm not going to look ahead. I'm just going to make the best of the present. Don't you think that's the best way?"

He made a wry face. "I suppose it is—if you don't know what's coming."

"But no one knows that," said Juliet.

He glanced at her. His fingers, clasped about his knees, tugged restlessly at each other. "I know what's going to happen to me," he said, after a moment. "I'm going to get into a row—with Dicky."

"Oh, is that it?" said Juliet. "I knew there was something the matter."

He nodded, and suddenly she saw his chin quiver. "I hate a row with
Dicky," he said miserably.

Her heart went out to him, he looked so forlorn. "Why don't you go and tell him you're sorry?" she said gently.

"Not—sorry," articulated Robin, with a sniff.

The matter presented difficulties. Juliet tried to hedge. "What have you been doing?"

"Quarrelling," said Robin.

"What! With Dick?"

"No." Again he glanced at her, and wiped a hasty hand across his eyes.
"Dick!" he repeated, as if in derision at her colossal ignorance.

"Well, but who then?" she questioned. "That is—of course don't tell me if you'd rather not!"

"Don't mind," said Robin. "I'll tell you anything. It was—Jack." He suddenly turned to her fully with blazing eyes. "I—hate—Jack!" he said very emphatically.

"Jack! But who is Jack? Oh, I remember!" Juliet abruptly recalled the young chauffeur at the churchyard gate. "He is your other brother, isn't he? I'd forgotten him."

"He's—a beast!" said Robin. "I hate him."

His look challenged reproof. Juliet wisely made none. "Isn't he kind to you?" she said.

"It wasn't that!" blurted out Robin. "It—it—was what he said—about—about—" He suddenly stopped, closed his lips and sat savagely biting them.

"About what?" asked Juliet, bewildered.

Robin sat mute.

"I should forget it if I were you," she said sensibly. "People often do and say things they don't mean. It doesn't pay to be too sensitive. Let's forget it, shall we?"

"I can't," said Robin. "Dicky's angry." He paused, then continued with an effort. "He said I wasn't to come here, said—said he'd punish me if I did. He called me back, and I wouldn't go. He—" He suddenly broke off, and crept close to her like a frightened dog—"he's coming now!" he whispered.

The catch of the gate had clicked, and Columbus who had accepted Robin without question, bustled forward to investigate.

He came back almost immediately, wearing a satisfied look, and as he settled down again by Juliet's side, Green appeared on the path that led to the apple-trees.

Robin pressed closer to Juliet. She could feel him trembling.
Instinctively she laid her hand upon him as Green drew near.

"Have you come to see me or to look for Robin?" she said.

Green's look was enigmatical. It comprehended them both at a single glance. She wondered if he were really angry, but if so, he had himself under complete control.

"I have brought you a box of cigarettes to go on with, Miss Moore," he said, and produced his offering with a smile.

"How very kind of you!" said Juliet. She sat up with a quick flush of embarrassment. "How did you manage to get them so soon? You must have had them by you."

"I had," said Green. "But I can spare you these with pleasure. It's awful to be without a smoke, isn't it?"

Juliet smiled. "These will last me for ages. I am being very economical now. Please will you tell me how much they are?"

"Half-a-crown," he said.

"Oh, please!" she protested. "Let us be honest!"

"Exactly," he said. "It's all they cost me. I get them through a friend."

"But perhaps your friend wouldn't care for me to have them at that price," objected Juliet.

"Yes, he would. It's all right," Green dismissed the matter with an airiness that was curiously final. "Don't bother about paying me now, please! I'd rather have it later. Robin, get up!"

He addressed his young brother so suddenly and so peremptorily that
Juliet was momentarily startled. Then very swiftly she intervened.

"Mr. Green, please, don't—be angry with Robin!"

His look flashed straight down to her. His eyes were still smiling, yet very strangely they compelled her own. He stooped unexpectedly after an instant's pause, lifted her hand with absolute gentleness away from the quivering Robin, and laid it in her lap.

"Get up, old chap!" he said. "And don't be an ass!"

There was no questioning the kindness of his voice. Robin lifted his head, stared a moment, then blundered to his feet. He stood awkwardly, as if unwilling to go but expecting to be dismissed.

"He is staying to tea with me," said Juliet.

"Oh, I think not," Green said. "Another time—if you are kind enough.
Not to-day."

He spoke very decidedly. Robin, with his head hanging, turned away.

Green, with a brief gesture of farewell, turned to follow. But in that moment Juliet spoke in that full rich voice of hers that was all the more arresting because she did not raise it.

"Mr. Green, I want to speak to you."

He stopped at once. She thought she caught a glint of humour behind the courteous attention of his eyes.

"Forgive me for interfering!" she said. "But I must say it."

"Pray do!" said Green.

Yet she found some difficulty in continuing. It would have been easier if he had shown resentment, but quizzical tolerance was hard to meet.

She looked up at him doubtfully for a moment or two. Then, hesitatingly, she spoke. "Please—don't—punish Robin for coming here!"

She saw his brows go up in surprise. He was about to speak, but she went on with more than a touch of embarrassment. "Perhaps it sounds impertinent, but I believe I could help him in some ways,—if I had the chance. Anyhow, I should like to try. Please let him come and see me as often as he likes!"

"Really!" said Green, and stopped. The amusement had wholly gone out of his look. "I don't know what to say to you," he said in a moment. "You are so awfully kind."

"No, I'm not indeed." Juliet's smile was oddly wistful. "I assure you I am selfish to the core. But there's something about Robin that goes straight to my heart. I should like to be kind to him—for my own sake. So don't—please—try to keep him out of my way!"

She spoke very earnestly, her eyes under their straight brows, looking directly into his,—honest eyes that no man could doubt.

Green stood facing her, his look as kind as her own. "Do you know, Miss Moore," he said, "I think this is about the kindest thing that has ever come into my experience?"

She made a slight gesture of protest. "Oh, but don't let us talk in superlatives!" she said. "Fetch Robin back, and both of you stay to tea!"

He shook his head. "Not to-day. I am very sorry. But he doesn't deserve it. He has been getting a bit out of hand lately. I can't pass it over."

Juliet leaned forward in her chair. Her eyes were suddenly very bright.
"This once, Mr. Green!" she said.

He stiffened a little. "No," he said.

"You won't?"

"I can't."

Juliet's look went beyond him to the figure of Robin leaning disconsolately against a distant tree. She sat for several moments watching him, and Green still stood before her as if waiting to be dismissed.

"Poor boy!" she said softly at length, and turned again to the man in front of her. "Are you sure you understand him?"

"Yes," said Green.

"And you are not hard on him? You are never hard on him?"

"I have got to keep him in order," he said.

"Yes, yes, I know. A man would say that." Juliet's face was very pitiful. "Let him off sometimes!" she urged gently. "It won't do him any harm."

Green smiled abruptly. "A woman would say that," he commented.

She smiled in answer. "Yes, I think any woman would. Don't be hard on him, Mr. Green! He has been shedding tears over your wrath already."

"He came here in direct defiance of my orders," said Green.

"I know. He told me. Please never give him such orders again!"

"You are awfully kind," Green said again. "But really in this case, there was sufficient reason. Some people—most people—prefer him at a distance."

"I am not one of them," Juliet said.

"I see you are not. But I couldn't risk it. Besides, he was in a towering rage when he started. It isn't fair to inflict him on people—even on anyone as kind as yourself—in that state."

"I should never be afraid of him," Juliet said quietly. "I think I know—partly—what was the matter. Someone made a rather cruel remark about him, and someone else maliciously repeated it. Then he was angry—very angry—and lost his self-control, and I suppose more cruel things were said. And then he came here—he asked me—he actually asked me—if I was sure I didn't mind him!"

A deep light was shining in her eyes as she ended, and an answering gleam came into Green's as he met them.

"I know," he said, in a low voice. "It's infernally hard for him, poor chap! But it doesn't do to let him know we think so. As long as he lives, he's got to bear his burden."

"But it needn't be made heavier than it is," Juliet said. "No, it needn't. But it isn't everyone that sees it in that light. I'm glad you do anyway, and I'm grateful—on Robin's behalf. Good-bye!"

He lifted his hand again in a farewell salute, and turned away.

Juliet watched him go, watched keenly as he approached Robin, saw the boy's quick glance at him as he took him by the arm and led him to the gate. A few seconds later they passed her on the other side of the hedge evidently on their way to the shore, and she heard Robin's voice as they went by.

"I'm—sorry now, Dicky," he said.

She turned her head to catch his brother's answer, for it did not come immediately and she wondered a little at the delay.

Then, as they drew farther away, she heard Green say, "Why do you say that?"

"She told me to," said Robin.

She felt her colour rise and heard Green laugh. They were almost out of earshot before he said, "All right, boy! I'll let you off this time. Don't do it again!"

She leaned back in her chair, and re-opened her book. But she did not read for some time. Somehow she felt glad—quite unreasonably glad again—that Robin had been let off.