Robin liked her best, and Rosalyn Crane felt this and promptly
tucked Robin under her wing.
For the next several hours life moved forward for Robin at such a
dizzying pace that she felt as though she were sitting apart from her
body and watching her flesh-and-bones do things they had never dreamed
of doing before; the noisy tea-circle, the room she shared with the nice
girl, the casual welcome from Mrs. Granger, the georgette and silver
dress and the silver slippers that matched, the beautiful drawing room
so alive with color and jollity, the long table gleaming with crystal
and silver, the voices, voices, (everyone's but hers) the bare shoulders
and the bright eyes and the red, red cheeks, the Japanese servants,
velvet-footed, the big, hot-house strawberries, music and dancing,
(everyone dancing but her) and then, at last, bed.
Out of the whirl stood two pleasant moments: one when Mr. Granger had
spoken to her, the other--Tom.
Mr. Granger had a kind face, all criss-crossed with fine lines that
curved up when he smiled. He patted her on the shoulder and said: "A
Forsyth girl, eh?" and made Robin feel that he liked her.
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