"Wasn't that Brina just like a witch with her parrot nose and sharp
eyes?"
But Beryl had no patience just now with Robin's beloved fairy lore. Two
little lines wrinkled her brow.
"There's something queer about that place or my name isn't Beryl Lynch.
And I like to know what's what. Wouldn't it be fun to find out what it
is? Whether she's hiding there on account of something or someone's
keeping her a prisoner? Maybe--" Beryl lowered her voice, "maybe she's
crazy."
"Oh, Beryl, she didn't act a bit crazy. Just very sad. She was nice. I
thought the room was lovely, too--and the lunch and that darling dog."
Robin had thoroughly enjoyed the simple hospitality and meant to defend
it.
"Of course the room was nice," Beryl felt that she showed much patience
with Robin's obtuseness, "but didn't you see anything _different_ in
that room? Books and magazines! Country people don't sit and read
magazines and knit on rose wool in the middle of the afternoon! Robin,
_that_ woman's a lady! And you notice she didn't tell us who she was.
And a woman with her talking some foreign jibberish."
"Beryl, you're wonderful to notice all these things.
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