"I was feeling so sick and awful, I don't know what I said--except that I didn't go at all. It sounded so helpless in the face of that letter."
"I think I'll go to dinner," announced Hughie suddenly, and he picked himself up, dusting himself in an incomplete manner.
"You can have my brush and comb, Midget, if you like," suggested Pamela, lying down again in a languid manner. "Oh dear, I wish I was dead. People say when there are two of a person one always dies. I hope it'll be me."
This was very gloomy. Hughie gazed at her from under his brows as he brushed his hair. Then he looked at his hands, appeared satisfied that their condition would pass the eagle-eyed inspection of the Floweret, and walked to the door. From there he said:
"If anybody dies it'll be her," and went, closing the door quietly behind him. Pamela felt comforted.
Dinner was proceeding in the dining-room, in a horribly uncomfortable manner, because the three persons present all knew of this amazing state of things, and not one knew what to say. Hughie slid into his chair and was helped to mince without comment. Miss Chance was doing her best to keep up a pretence that nothing was the matter, and welcomed her youngest pupil as an ally, but Hughie was glum.
"Now," said the Floweret hopefully, "do let us settle about a picnic. I am sure Hughie will side with me. Adrian, what about an alliance between boats and pedestrians--to Ramsworthy Cove, for instance--or farther; the sands at Netheroot looked so inviting when we passed the other day, I always contend there are no such sands anywhere. Come now, what do you say?"
Adrian was talking to Crow in a low voice. He glanced up.
"Beg your pardon, Miss Chance, I didn't hear what you said;" then, dropping his voice,
"It's not a bit of good shutting one's eyes to facts, Crow. I confess I don't understand this latest business--it sounds insane--but Pamela's hiding something up her sleeve; besides, I'll swear she never got little Ensor up the Beak by----"