abeth's dismay, with jealousy of her father's secretary.

'I don't know why father didn't let me help him with his packing,
and it's I who should have been left in charge! I'm his eldest
daughter--it is natural that I should be. I can tell you it's very
hard--to see somebody--who's not a relation--doing--doing everything
for him!--so that he won't let anybody else advise him--or do
anything! It is very--very--wounding for us all. Pamela feels it--I
know she does--and Desmond too.'

Elizabeth, very white and distressed, knelt down by her and tried to
calm her. But the flood of angry self-pity could not be stayed.

'Oh, I daresay you don't mean it, but you have--yes, you have a way
of getting everybody's attention. Of course you're awfully
clever--much cleverer than I am--or Pamela. But still it--it isn't
pleasant. I know Pamela felt it dreadfully--being cut out with
people she likes--people she cares about--and who--who might
care for her--like Arthur Chicksands. I believe--yes, I do
believe--though she never told me--that's why she went to London.'

Elizabeth rose from her knees. For a moment she was struck dumb. And
when at last she spoke it was only to repeat the name Mrs. Gaddesden
had mentioned in utter bewilderment.

'Captain Chicksands! What can you mean?'

'Why, of course girls can't hold their own with older women when the
older women are so charming and clever--and all that'--cried Mrs.
Gaddesden, trying desperately to justify herself--'but I've been
awfully sorry for Pamela! Very likely it's not your fault--you
couldn't know, I daresay!'

'No, indeed, I didn't know!' said Elizabeth, in a low voice, 'and I
can't understand now what you mean.'

'Don't you remember the day Arthur Chicksands spent here just before
Desmond went? Don't you remember how he talked to you all the
afternoon about the woods? Well, _I_ saw Pamela's face as she was
sitting behind you.'

Mrs. Gaddesden raised a triumphant though tear-stained countenance.
She was avenging not only her father's latest slight, but a long
series of grievances--small and great--connected with Elizabeth's
position in the house. And the Squire's farewell to her had turned
even her grief to gall.

'If Pamela was hurt, I was a most innocent cause!' said Elizabeth at
last, indignantly. 'And if you or any one else had given me the
smallest hint--'

'How could we?' was the rather sulky reply. 'Pamela, of course,
never said a word--to me. But I rather thi