Again the bell was rung, more forcefully than ever.
"Dear, oh dear!" muttered Mrs. Chipman, increasing her pace.
Pamela giggled.
But the bell-puller was unreasonably impatient. A door on the right hand of the hall--same side as the room they had quitted, but the last door--opened sharply, and the girl under discussion appeared. She wore no hat, and held a book in her hand.
"I rang twice," she said, "I heard voices, and----"
Pamela came forward. Drawn up to her full height, her carriage and manner were at least as haughty as those of the other girl.
"I was talking to Mrs. Chipman," she said. "As a matter of fact I came to see you, and she was doubtful about it; so I told her I insisted."
"Excuse me, Countess," burst in Mrs. Chipman, "but I must protest now, and once for all against irregular conduct. I stand in the position of guardian. The grounds are open to you, and you have the option of gravitation to any portion of the wood, orchards, or gardens--there is no excuse----"
"You talk too much," said the girl irritably, "be silent. You are not a guardian, you are my maid--Sir Marmaduke is my guardian, for the time. Come into this room, Miss Romilly, I will receive you here."
She turned round and went back into the drawing-room, leaving Mrs. Chipman blown out like an angry bird with feathers on end.