Through the flowered chintz curtains of her window the sun shone with a
warmth out of all keeping with the time of the year, throwing such a
joyous glow about everything in the room that she rubbed her eyes to be
sure she was not dreaming.
The evening before, everything had seemed so strange that Robin had not
been able to take in small things; now an immense curiosity to explore
Gray Manor, and the grounds that were like Central Park, and the little
town, and the hills around it, seized her. She slipped her feet out of
bed and into the satin slippers which had been one of Miss Effie's
purchases. She dressed with feverish haste, rebuking herself for having
slept so late, for her new wrist watch told her it was after ten
o'clock.
Ten o'clock--why, on Patchin Place the morning was almost over at that
hour, the streets about thundering with the work of the day. And here it
was as still as night, or as--a church on a weekday, Robin thought.
Dressed, she opened the door of her room very quietly and peeped
curiously out. And there in the wide hall, dusting an old highboy, was
the girl with the dark hair.
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