Adrian rose indignantly from his seat on the bed foot.
"Of course if you're going to----"
"Stop a minute, Addie. Here, give me my dressing-gown." She sat up and put her arms in the sleeves, talking as she did so. "How long did you say it was--you've only been here a few minutes--they were going out, not coming in. Well, it's perfectly simple. I'll go and see; if they were walking away up the drive ten minutes ago at the outside, they can't be in bed now."
Christobel flitted away like a shadow, down the long corridor, round into the cross passage at the end, and stopped outside Pamela's door. She heard the sound of regular breathing in the stillness, and went in. There was Pam, sound asleep. Christobel's experienced eye ran over the neatly-folded garments on a chair, the blouse hung deftly over the bed foot, sleeves inside out. The room was neat and in order.
"Absurd," muttered Crow with emphasis.
Pamela stirred, turned over, and started up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes.
"What--what is it, Crow; am I late? Is it half-past six?"
"Oh no, half-past four. Don't worry--I just came to look out of your window----" Crow suited action to the excuse, lamely made, for she was not used to excuses.
"It's going to be fine, Pam; there's a mist----" she laughed softly with a little sense of triumph, and slipped out of the room.
Pamela vaguely wondered, but it was obvious that her sister was "not cross"--Christobel seldom was; she meant there was a very sympathetic atmosphere, which was true.