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“Oh, come, you know, Pamela, there’s not the slightest occasion for you to talk like that. This man must be an impostor, don’t you know, or else he———”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Roger, I know all that argument, but it doesn’t make things any easier for me. I will not take another penny of grandfather’s money; I will never go to Trent Stoke again, and I am going to leave here as soon as possible.”

“Pamela, am I———” but Aunt Sophia got no further, for Pamela had suddenly burst into a flood of long-pent tears and had fled from the room.

The storm over, she felt better, and proceeded to review the friends to whom she might apply for shelter for the present. London, and a circle of disapproving and argumentative relations, had become unbearable, and she took a pen and wrote to an old friend of her mother’s, a Miss Amelia Sidmouth, who lived in Cornwall, and to whom she had paid one or two visits as a child. She explained her circumstances as clearly as possible, and in a couple of days came a long and kindly letter in reply. Miss Sidmouth, a spinster of small means and a most independent spirit, found much to admire in Pamela’s attitude: a cordial dislike of Aunt Sophia may have helped to bias her in favour of Pamela’s wishes. In any case, she wrote regretting that she could not ask Pamela to visit her just then, being on the point of setting out on a journey herself—a trip to America, where she had promised to visit some friends and relations in various parts of the States.

“But, my dear Pamela,” she wrote, “I should be glad if you care to accompany me on my trip. I could not afford to do more than pay your expenses, but I should be very pleased to have your companionship, and there are many little things which you could do for me. I trust, dear child, that your fears with regard to the rightful ownership of Trent Stoke will prove to be quite unfounded,