"Well, you might say she's next lydy to Madame herself," explained
Harkness. "In the old days her people and the Manor people were thick
like and visited backward and forward. And there was talk of young
Christopher some day marrying the young lydy, Miss Alicia. I hear tell
his death was a sad blow to them. They haven't been coming much to the
Manor since, but we laid it to Madame's queer ways and the gloom."
"Will the others be able to come? Won't Mrs. Budge have _lots_ too much
food?"
"Well, you might say most will make it, for they keep the post roads
open. We'll hope for the best, missy," he added, interpreting Robin's
anxious questioning as an expression of disappointment.
But Robin's sudden concern over the party had nothing to do with the
coming of Mrs. Granger or anyone else. As she had stood in the window,
her nose flattened against the pane, staring out at the snowy slopes,
she had been suddenly inspired by a beautiful plan. She turned to Beryl.
"Can something be sent up from New York in a day?"
"Depends." Beryl answered shortly. "What?"
With one of the lightning-like decisions, characteristic of her, Robin
decided not to take Beryl into her confidence--just yet.
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