'The fact is—I think I'd better tell you—I tried yesterday to get your father to give up his plans about the gates. And when he wouldn't, and it seemed likely that there might be legal proceedings and—and a great fuss—in which naturally he would want his secretary to help him—'
'You just felt you couldn't? Well, of course I understand that,' said Pamela fervently. 'But then, you see,' she laughed, 'there isn't going to be a fuss. The plough just walked in, and the fifty acres will be done in no time.'
Elizabeth looked as she felt—worried.
'It's very puzzling. I wonder what happened? But I am afraid there will be other things where your father and I shall disagree—if, that is, he wants me to do so much else for him than the Greek work—'
'But you might say that you wouldn't do anything else but the Greek work?'
'Yes, I might,' said Elizabeth smiling, 'but once I've begun—'
'You couldn't keep to it?—father couldn't keep to it?'
Elizabeth shook her head decidedly. A little smile played about her lips, as much as to say, 'I am a managing woman and you must take me at that. "Il ne faut pas sortir de son caractère."' Pamela, looking at her, admired her for the first time. And now that there was to be no more question—apparently—of correspondence with Arthur Chicksands, her mood changed impulsively.
'Well, I'm very sorry!' she said—and then, sincerely, 'I don't know how the place will get on.'
'Thank you,' said Elizabeth. Her look twinkled a little. 'But you don't know what I might be after if I stayed!'