all, thank you, Miss Chance," in a voice that went to Jim Crow’s heart, because the suppressed torture in it was so acute. Because, then, this gloomy company was assembled in the drawing-room, Pamela found no one about, and going straight to the dining-room proceeded to make a good tea; and Hughie, hearing her come in, entered on the tips of his toes, sat down at a distance on the big leather sofa, curled up his toes under him--till he looked like a small soapstone "god"--and waited patiently. "Why aren’t you in bed?" asked Pamela, as she helped herself to some fresh cocoa brought in for her. "It isn’t eight," said Hughie. "My dear child, it’s ten past!" "Well," Hughie glanced at the clock unashamed, "they’ve forgotten me, you see. That’s why I came out here, for fear they should remember." "Miss Chance won’t forget," warned Pamela with conviction. Hughie set that aside. "They are in a state of miserableness, so nobody is remembering things," he said, "it’s rather beastly, Pam, they can’t sail the _Messenger_ any more----" "Who can’t?" interrupted Pamela sharply, pausing with a glass of potted meat in her hand. "All of them--Mollie, and Jim Crow, and Addie, and the worst is that Addie will be cross most of the time now, which is a fearful pity; he won’t help me do my rigging, because it will remind him of the yawl. It’s most unlucky for everybody." "Why can’t they sail the _Messenger_ any more?" asked Pamela, going on with her supper. The thought flashed through her mind that the sudden and brief appearance of Sir Marmaduke was going to be explained simply. "Because the gardens at Crown Hill are in a mess," Hughie went on with slow emphasis, "they are in a _fearful_ mess, and everything is growing too fast, and Mr. Jordan can’t do it, and there aren’t any men, because they’re mostly dead in the War. Miss Ashington says Penberthy has got to go in the gardens the whole while. Not a minute on the sea--and you know they can’t go without Penberthy, Sir Marmaduke won’t let them." "Beastly hard luck," said Pamela