"Pam! Pamela Burbridge!"
It was Grace Gilpin.
She looked simply gorgeous.
She wore a cloak of dull velvet the exact colour of her hair, with a great skunk collar. There was a sort of laughing radiancy about her, as if she were bubbling and dancing with happiness.
I wondered if she knew that my people didn't know where I was. I thought I could trust mother for that. I was right.
"I met Mrs. Burbridge not so very long ago," she said. "She was most mysterious and injured about you, Pam. What have you been doing? She seemed quite martyred. I couldn't get anything out of her. Have you got married, or gone on the stage, or what? Won't Cheneston be surprised! You must stay and have dinner with us and tell us all your misdeeds."
"Cheneston?" I said.
People were drinking their coffee and staring at Grace, just as they always did.
"Yes, he's home on leave and staying here. Pam—didn't you know I was married?"
"Yes," I lied swiftly.