Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/116

part of the year at Trent Stoke, especially after the death of Lord Trent; and in holiday time came various cousins or other carefully selected small guests with whom Pamela must make friends. Pamela did what was expected of her. She was hostess, and one must be civil, and she supposed Aunt Sophia called this “making friends”—being polite, and playing the games the others wanted, and riding where they chose. But somehow Pamela never derived much satisfaction from her youthful house-parties, and always said good-bye to the last little guest with subdued feelings of joy and relief.

In school-time she had to rely on the Rector’s daughter for companionship. Hester shared her French and German lessons and usually stayed for an hour afterwards, “to play,” Aunt Sophia said; but Hester was a solemn person who at thirteen considered the imaginative games which were Pamela's delight decidedly beneath her. So the two children usually strolled sedately through the gardens engaged in conversations which mostly ended in a strong desire on Pamela’s part to shake Hester thoroughly.

Hester had no sympathy with Pamela’s small bursts of rebellion.

“I think it’s dreadfully ungrateful of you, Pamela,” she remarked severely, her small mouth “If you are not content to live in a beautiful place like Trent Stoke I’m sure I don’t know what you can want.”

“You don’t understand, Hester. Of course I love Trent Stoke—I adore every bit of it—I wouldn’t live anywhere else for worlds, but———”

“I really don’t see what you mean, then, Pamela.”

“No. You never do. . . . Oh, I daresay it’s my own fault—I’m explaining very badly—but what I hate is this sort of feeling of being kept back all the time. It never seems as if I had time even to think as I want to before