The next day David was introduced to Pamela and her brother, and was pleased to pronounce well of them.  He had been inclined to be distrustful about the entrance of such exotic creatures as they sounded into the quiet of Priorsford, but having seen and talked to them he assured his sister they were quite all right.

Why, Lord Bidborough had been at David’s own college—­that alone was recommendation enough.  His feats, too, were still remembered, not feats of scholarship—­oh no, but of mountaineering on the college roofs.  He had not realised when Jean mentioned Lord Bidborough in her letters that it was the same man who was still spoken of by undergraduates with bated breath.

Of Pamela, David attempted no criticism.  How could he?  He was at her feet, and hardly dared lift his eyes to her face.  A smile or two, a few of Pamela’s softly spoken sentences, and David had succumbed.  Not that he allowed her—­or anyone else—­to know it.  He kept at a respectable distance, and worshipped in silence.

One evening while Pamela sat stitching at her embroidery in the little parlour at Hillview her brother laid down the book he was reading, lit a cigarette, and said suddenly, “What of the Politician, Pam?”

Pamela drew the thread in and out several times before she answered.

“The Politician is safe so far as I’m concerned.  Only last week I wrote and explained matters to him.  He wrote a very nice letter in reply.  I think, on the whole, he is much relieved, though he expressed polite regret.  It must be rather a bore at sixty to become possessed of a wife, even though she might be able to entertain well and manage people....  It was a ridiculous idea always; I see that now.”

Lord Bidborough regarded his sister with an amused smile.  “I always did regard the Politician as a fabulous monster.  But tell me, Pam, how long is this to continue?  Are you so enamoured of the simple life that you can go on indefinitely living in Miss Bathgate’s parlour and eating stewed steak and duck’s eggs?”

Pamela dropped her embroidery-frame, looked at her brother with a puzzled frown, and gave a long sigh.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said—­“I don’t know.  Of course it can’t go on indefinitely, but I do hate the thought of going away and leaving it all.  I love the place.  It has given me a new feeling about life; it has taught me contentment:  I have found peace here.  If I go back to the old restless, hectic life I shall be, I’m afraid, just as restless and feverishly anxious to be happy as I used to be.  And yet, I suppose, I must go back.  I’ve almost had the three months I promised myself.  But I’m going to try and take Jean with me.  Lewis Elliot and I mean to arrange things so that Jean can have her chance.”

“Why should Lewis Elliot have anything to do with it?”

Her brother’s tone brought a surprised look into Pamela’s eyes.