“I would rather have been motoring,” she finished.
Miss Maitland appeared with the children at this moment. She had waited until Pamela returned home, not caring to pass Arnott, for some inexplicable reason, and fully alive to the fact that he was seated on the stoep near the door. It was late for their walk. For the first time since her arrival the rigid rule of regular hours was relaxed.
Pamela looked round in surprise.
“Going out?” she exclaimed, catching up Pamela, the younger, who had flown towards her and flung herself into her arms.
Arnott sat up, regarding the governess under his eyes. She had no look for him.
“Baby slept late,” she explained to Pamela. “I thought we might manage a short walk before tea.”
“You come too,” the little girl pleaded, tugging at Pamela’s hand.
“Nonsense!” interposed Arnott. “You have got Miss Maitland. Daddy wants mummy.”
The child pouted her disappointment.
“You can have Miss Maitland,” she said, with unflattering generosity. “Pamela wants her mummy.”