omforting hand on his shoulder and
turned to the lawyer.

"The girl is right. She's a wonderful little thing. She always could see
further ahead than her Dad. I have been telling my pal that this is the
best thing all around that could happen--a fine bit of luck for
everyone. Robin will go up to Gray Manor and be as happy and safe as can
be and her father can travel and work--the way Robin wants him to. Robin
took rather unusual means to gain her end but--well, she knew what she
was doing."

Jimmie turned to Cornelius Allendyce and studied his face with a
desperate keenness.

"She isn't like other children," he began slowly. "Poor little crooked
kiddie. She's sensitive. I've kept her away from everything that could
hurt her. I've tried--to make up to her. I thought she was happy; I did
not know she guessed--or knew--"

Mr. Tony had taken a few steps down the room. He wheeled now and came
back with a set expression on his face as though he had to say something
disagreeable and must get it over with.

"Jimmie, suppose, just for once, you look your soul straight in the
eye--honest. Now isn't it the artist heart of you that's hurt by Robin's
crooked little body--and not the child? Don't you keep her shut up in
here because, when people stare at her--_you_ suffer? Have you been fair
to her? Oh, yes--you love her, all right. Well, then, let her go. Robin
thinks she's giving you your chance--well, _I_ say, give the girl her
own."

"I tell you Robin's different--she doesn't want money or clothes!"

"Well, pretty things--and good food--can make even a 'different' girl's
heart lighter. Come, old man, go off with me on this cruise and work
your head off and at the end of the year--if Robin's not happy there,
well, you can make other plans. I'm like Robin, I believe that give you
a year, you'll do something rather big."

James Forsyth suddenly lifted a face so boyishly helpless, so defeated,
that Allendyce's heart went out to him. He understood, all at once, what
little Robin had meant when she had said, "You don't know Jimmie!" He
certainly was not like other men.

"I feel such a--quitter. I promised Robin's mother--I'd make up to the
child for her being lame--the way _she_ would have, if she'd lived. And
I've failed. Why, only last night she went to bed hungry." There
followed a moment of tense silence, then the man went on dully, in a
tone that implied yielding. "I suppose I may know all the circumstances
that led up