“Oh, yes, you do, you must. Everybody knows who we are, and all about us. And kind as everybody is, it’s dreadful all the same. Of course we shall get over it some day, but now—oh, don’t talk about it, don’t, don’t.”
“Young Angmering looks much better!” said Sir Harry by way of a diversion, glancing towards the garden, where Gerard was walking briskly, whip in hand, from the stables towards his wife, who was leaning out of one of the lower windows and smiling at him.
“Oh, yes. It’s hardly possible to believe that he was threatened with consumption only a few months ago. I’m so glad, for poor Audrey’s sake. After all she went through, it’s lovely to see her so happy at last!”
“Yes. I don’t quite like, myself, to approach her. I—I feel most awfully uncomfortable after—after—er—er—er.”
The unfortunate young man stopped short, remembering that it was through the misunderstanding created by Pamela’s father that he had misjudged poor Audrey.
Pamela laughed sadly.
“Oh, you can speak out,” she said. “It’s of no use for me—for Babs and me, to pretend not to know the mischief he caused. But I am thankful to say the last traces of it are passing away now.”
The young man twirled his moustache fiercely.
“I’m so sorry——” said he. “I—I don’t know how I could be such a donkey as to—as to——”
“Don’t call yourself names,” said she with a sort of forlorn resignation. “It can’t be helped. Every one knows it. Every one will always know, and look round at the name of Candover.”