A week of stormy weather, which made the roads almost impassable, helped
Robin. She threw herself into her studies with a determination almost as
upsetting to Percival Tubbs as her former indifference. And when the
studies were over she buried herself in the great divan before the
library fire with books piled about her while Harkness hovered near at
hand, watching her with an anxious eye.
Robin did not always read the open page. Sometimes, holding it before
her, she let her mind go over word by word what Dale had said to her as
they walked home from the store. It had not been much, to be sure, but
it had been enough to make her feel that her Prince had opened his heart
to her, oh, just a tiny bit. With her blessed powers of imagination and
with what Beryl had told her from time to time concerning him, she could
put everything together into a beautiful picture.
Dale was splendid and brave--_he_ had not been afraid of being poor! And
he dreamed, too, like Sir Galahad, but a dream of machinery. And he had
had a beautiful light in his face when he had said that about his
shoulders being broad enough to support his family.
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