he family meals,
exchange a word with her. As he walked off with Pamela, Miss Liston's
eyes followed him in wistful longing; she stole away upstairs and did
not come down till five o'clock. Then finding me strolling about with a
cigarette, she joined me.

"Well, how goes the book?" I asked.

"I haven't done much to it just lately," she answered, in a low voice.
"I--it's--I don't quite know what to do with it."

"I thought you'd settled?"

"So I had, but--oh, don't let's talk about it, Mr. Wynne!"

But a moment later she went on talking about it.

"I don't know why I should make it end happily," she said. "I'm sure
life isn't always happy, is it?"

"Certainly not," I answered. "You mean your man might stick to the
shallow girl after all?"

"Yes," I just heard her whisper.

"And be miserable afterwards?" I pursued.

"I don't know," said Miss Liston. "Perhaps he wouldn't."

"Then you must make him shallow himself."

"I can't do that," she said quickly. "Oh, how difficult it is!"

She may have meant merely the art of writing--when I cordially agreed
with her--but I think she meant also the way of the world, which does
not make me withdraw my assent. I left her walking up and down in front
of the drawing-room windows, a rather forlorn little figure, thrown
into distinctness by the cold rays of the setting sun.

All was not over yet. That evening Chillington broke away. Led by
vanity, or interest, or friendliness, I know not which--tired maybe of
paying court (the attitude in which Pamela kept him), and thinking it
would be pleasant to play the other part for a while--after dinner he
went straight to Miss Liston, talked to her while we had coffee on the
terrace, and then walked about with her. Pamela sat by me; she was very
silent; she did not appear to be angry, but her handsome mouth wore a
resolute expression. Chillington and Miss Liston wandered on into the
shrubbery, and did not come into sight again for nearly half an hour.

"I think it's cold," said Pamela, in her cool, quiet tones. "And it's
also, Mr. Wynne, rather slow. I shall go to bed."

I thought it a little impertinent of Pamela to attribute the 'slowness'
(which had undoubtedly existed) to me, so I took my revenge by saying,
with, an assumption of innocence purposely and obviously unreal, "Oh,
but won't you wait and bid Miss Liston and Chillington good-night?"

Pamela looked at me for a moment. I made bold to smile.

Pamela's face broke sl