Ought she to tell her mother? Did it matter? If it did not matter, why was Sir Marmaduke so secret, and why did the girl herself refuse to go into Clawtol Farm, and lurk about in this queer way? An ordinary seaside visitor would come to the shore; why then did she never appear in the cove or among the rocks?
All these questions chased each other through her mind while she undressed and brushed out her long hair. Then, just before she lay down, came the realization of one fact. This strange girl appeared only very early, or late--never when Bell Bay was busy with ordinary life. Mollie saw her quite early. Hughie saw her in the evening. Crow and Adrian saw her after dark, very late indeed. Finally Pamela had seen her in late afternoon, but then there was such a thick fog that she could elude anyone.
"Oh, bother it all," thought Pam, "no good worrying any way, one can't do any more to-night."
Then she was asleep.
CHAPTER XI
In which Adrian holds a decided
opinion about Pam
No one should count on anything. We say that often, yet we do the opposite. Pamela thought no one could bother her again that night, yet she was wakened about two hours after she fell asleep by the cautious opening of her door.
There was moonlight still, of course. The moon rose later, and was veiled by fog still, but grey light made things in her room visible.
"Pam!" it was Hughie's voice; he slid round the edge of the door, closed it after him, and came towards the bed on tiptoes, a quaint little figure in blue-and-white striped pyjamas.
"Well?" answered Pamela, not in the least realizing that no cause but an important matter would have made Hughie do this. She was hardly awake.