efficiency, cheerfulness, and the practical life. Her grandmother
had been Dutch, and in Elizabeth the fair skin and yellow-gold hair
(Rembrandt's 'Saskia' shows the type) of many Dutch forebears had
reappeared. She was a trifle plump; her hair curled prettily round
her temples; her firm dimpled chin and the fair complexion of her
face and neck were set off, evidently with intention, by the plain
blouse of black silky stuff, open at the neck, and showing a modest
string of small but real pearls. The Squire, who had a wide
knowledge of jewels, had noticed these pearls at once. It seemed to
him--vaguely--that lady secretaries should not possess real pearls;
or if they did possess them, should carefully keep them to
themselves.

He accepted a cup of tea from his daughter, and drank it absently
before he asked:

'Where's Desmond?'

'He went to lunch at Fallerton--at the camp. Captain Byles asked
him. I think afterwards he was going to play in a match.'

The same thought passed through the minds of both father and
daughter. 'This day week, Desmond will be gone.' In Pamela it
brought back the dull pain of which she was now habitually
conscious--the pain of expected parting. In her father it aroused an
equally habitual antagonism--the temper, indeed, of ironic
exasperation in which all his thinking and doing were at the moment
steeped. He looked up suddenly.

'Pamela, I have got something disagreeable to say to you.'