"The afternoon has passed very pleasantly for me." The Queen's voice was
measuredly polite. "I thank you for thinking of me--in my out-of-the-way
corner, and bringing me such lovely gifts." Her eyes turned from the
flowers which Brina had put in a squat pewter pitcher to the book which
lay on the table. Then she turned to Robin and levelled a glance upon
her which held a queer challenge.
"If you succeed--with your--what did you call it--House of Laughter, let
me know, sometime. I shall be most interested in your experiment."
"Then she _was_ listening," thought Robin, wondering at the bitter tone
in the woman's voice. "Maybe she's so lonely and so unhappy she hates to
think of laughter."
"Well, Red-Robin Forsyth, you certainly did spill everything you knew
and a lot more besides," cried Beryl, when the two were alone. "As if a
Queen cared a fig! I tried to head you off a couple of times." Beryl
laughed scornfully. "It was _funny_!"
Robin still smarted from her recent embarrassment; she did not relish
Beryl's laughing at her.
"We had to talk about something," she cried in defence.
"Well, if you'd given me a chance I'd have talked about things that are
happening in Europe.
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