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natural. This was her first experience of London society too, and though her outlook was rather different from Tony’s, she also found everything absolutely delightful. There was no trace of the rebellious child of twelve—here was a radiant girl with the whole world laid before her. Perhaps Aunt Sophia’s upbringing had been wise, after all, though the strict seclusion of the last two years of Pamela’s life had moved even Uncle Roger to remonstrance.

“Come, I say, Sophia,” he expostulated once—and once only. “That little dance at the Waltons’—surely you might let the child go; they’re quite nice people and all that, and Lord knows the kid’s life is dull enough.”

“I know exactly what I am doing, my dear Roger.” Aunt Sophia’s tones were even firmer than usual. “No parties after she is sixteen. In less than two years she will come out, and I wish everything to be quite fresh to her.”

Which, being interpreted, meant: “I wish her to be quite fresh to everyone.”

So Pamela continued to lead the dullest and least eventful of lives, until in time she duly burst upon a startled world. It dazzled her a little. She was pretty enough to have fulfilled most of Aunt Sophia’s hopes, even if she had not been Lady Trent; people were charming to her, and she found it easy to be charming too. Perhaps her head was a little turned. Archie thought so, after he had spent half an hour in detailing the many excellencies of his new friend, to meet, for sole response, the curt question, “Who is he?”

This example of Aunt Sophia’s training annoyed Archie. How could Pamela be so old-fashioned?

“Who is he? What in the world does that matter? I suppose his people were French originally, though he doesn’t pronounce his name like a Frenchman. The thing that matters is that he’s one of the decentest chaps I’ve