"Of course not," said Isobel, haughtily.
"I didn't mean to tell you about her crying, at first—but I guessed if you knew you wouldn't let it happen again. It was only because you didn't know. Where she went to school, what she did at her aunt's, where she bought her clothes—things like that don't really concern any of us——"
"Not if there's nothing to hide," said Isobel suddenly. "But it seems as if there is something in Beryl's case—and so she won't talk about it."
"Why on earth should there be anything to hide! If she's been unhappy—why should she wish to talk about it? Let her forget it. Come, Isobel, I know you'll be a good sport, and not bother her with any more questions. Let's give her a happy time while she's here, shan't we? Shake hands on it."
Isobel took Pamela's outstretched hand, but her dignity was still a little ruffled.
"Beryl seems to have made a lot of fuss—if there's nothing to hide," she said in a slightly offended tone.
"Oh, she's only extra sensitive.... Why ever should there be anything to hide!" repeated Pamela, feeling as if she had not been quite successful in convincing Isobel. "It's only that she's been unhappy—and she's been poor. Lack of money makes such a difference in one's confidence in one's self. It oughtn't to—but it does," she ruminated. "Anyway, you won't ask her any more questions, will you?"
"I shouldn't think of doing so—after what you've told me," Isobel replied coldly.
"Thanks so much," said Pamela, with genuine warmth. "We'll give her a real happy time while she's here."
And if Beryl's happiness had lain in the hands of these two girls, it would have been assured during the next few months. But, unfortunately, there was a third person in Barrowfield whose hands were to play an unexpected part in the future happiness of Beryl.