I must go to poor Henrietta in Manchester.

That's my bit of work, it seems, and thank God I'm able to do it.

She was a fine girl in a fine shop, poor Henrietta, and she's not got any backbone and her children are delicate--and another coming.

Well, well! I do thank God that you don't need your old Dowie as you did at first." Thus she went away and in her own pleasant rooms in the big house, now so full of new activities, Robin was as unwatched as if she had been a young gull flying in and out of its nest in a tall cliff rising out of the beating sea.
Her early fever of anxiety never to lose sight of the fact that she was a paid servitor had been gradually assuaged by the delicate adroitness of the Duchess and by the aid of soothing time.

While no duty or service was forgotten or neglected, she realised that life was passed in an agreeable freedom which was a happy thing.