"Jean," cried Mhor as he burst in, "here's the Honourable. I asked her
to come in and see you. She's afraid of Bella Bathgate."

"Oh, do come in," said Jean, standing up with the stocking she was
darning over one hand. "Take this chair; it's the most comfortable. I do
hope Mhor hasn't been worrying you?"

"Indeed he hasn't," said Pamela; "I was delighted to see him. But
please don't let me interrupt your work."

"The boys make such big holes," said Jean, picking up a damp
handkerchief that lay beside her; and then with a tremble in her voice,
"I've been crying," she added.

"So I see," said Pamela. "I'm sorry. Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing in the least wrong," Jean said, swallowing hard, "only that I'm
so silly." And presently she found herself pouring out her troubled
thoughts about David, about the lions that she feared stood in his path
at Oxford, about the hole his going made in the little household at The
Rigs. It was a comfort to tell it all to this delightful-looking
stranger who seemed to understand in the most wonderful way.

"I remember when my brother Biddy went to Oxford," Pamela told her. "I
felt just as you do. Our parents were dead, and I was five years older
than my brother, and took care of him just as you do of your David. I
was afraid for him, for he had too much money, and that is much worse
than having too little--but he didn't get changed or spoiled, and to
this day he is the same, my own old Biddy."