“Oh, Pamela!” cried Jean.  There was more of relief and appeal in her voice than she knew, and Pamela, seeing the visitors, prepared to do battle.

“I thought I should surprise you, Jean, girl.  I came by the two train, for I was determined to be here in time for tea.”  She slipped off her coat and took Jean in her arms.  “It is good to be back....  Ah, Mrs. Duff-Whalley, how are you?  Have you kept Priorsford lively through the Christmas-time, you and your daughter?”

“Well, I was just telling Jean we’ve done our best.  My son Gordon, and his Cambridge friends, delightful young fellows, you know, perfect gentlemen.  But we did miss you and your brother.  Is dear Lord Bidborough not with you?”

“My brother has gone to London.”

“Naturally,” said Mrs. Duff-Whalley, nodding her head knowingly.  “All young men like London, so gay, you know, restaurants and theatres and night-clubs—­”

“Oh, I hope not,” laughed Pamela.  “My brother’s rather extraordinary; he cares very little for London pleasures.  The open road is all he asks—­a born gipsy.”

“Fancy!  Well, it’s a nice taste too.  But I would rather ride in my car than tramp the roads.  I like my comforts.  Muriel and I are going to London shortly, on our way to the Continent.  Will you be there, Miss Reston?”

“Probably, and if I am Jean will be with me.  Do you hear that, Jean?” and paying no attention to the dubious shake of Jean’s head she went on:  “We must give Jean a very good time and have lots of parties.  Perhaps, Mrs. Duff-Whalley, you will bring your daughter to one of Jean’s parties when you are in London?  You have been so very kind to us that we should greatly like to have an opportunity of showing you some hospitality.  Do let us know your whereabouts.  It would be fun—­wouldn’t it, Jean?—­to entertain Priorsford friends in London.”

For a moment Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked very like a ferret that wanted to bite; then she smiled and said: 

“Well, really, it’s most kind of you.  I’m sure Jean should be very grateful to you.  You’re a kind of fairy godmother to this little Cinderella.  Only Jean must remember that it isn’t very nice to come back to drudgery after an hour or two at the ball,” and she gave an unpleasant laugh.

“Ah, but you forget your fairy tale,” said Pamela.  “Cinderella had a happy ending.  She wasn’t left to the drudgery, but reigned with the prince in the palace.”

“It’s hardly polite surely,” Muriel put in, “to liken poor little Jean to a cinder-witch.”

Jean laughed and held out a foot in a shabby slipper.  “I’ve felt like one all day.  It’s been such a grubby day, no kitchen range on, no hot water, and Mrs. M’Cosh actually out of temper.  Now you’ve come, Pamela, it will be all right—­but it has been wretched.  I hadn’t the spirit to change my frock or put on decent slippers, that’s why I’ve reminded you all of Cinderella....  Are you going, Mrs. Duff-Whalley?  Good-bye.”