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that troubled her specially. Of Tony himself with the lean brown face and the mocking eyes she was not thinking very definitely. It was the simple fact of having lived for so many years in a position which was not really hers that made her feel now as if every mouthful of food she took would choke her.

Aunt Sophia, angry though she was at Pamela’s attitude, was worried about her as well. Of course in time the child would come to her senses, but meanwhile time was flying, and this was her first season—and such a promising one! It was too ridiculous—too aggravating for words. Pamela had never had such white cheeks in her life; perhaps it would be a good plan to take her down to Trent Stoke for a few days.

She looked across at Pamela—they were at luncheon.

“Your head is aching again to-day, isn’t it? I have been thinking it would do you good to go down to Trent Stoke for two or three days; then you would come back fresh again.”

“I don’t want ever to go to Trent Stoke again, Aunt Sophia.”

“My dear child!”

“Aunt Sophia, please realise that I am serious about this. I believe that I am not Lady Trent, that all these years I have been spending money that does not belong to me that—that—I can’t explain all I feel about it, but I shall have to do something different. I can’t live like this any longer—I can’t!”

“Pamela, are you out of your mind? For goodness’ sake, Roger, speak to Pamela, and try and make her a little sensible. I am worn out.”

Things must indeed be topsy-turvy if Aunt Sophia were to appeal to Uncle Roger to adjust them. That personage, very uncomfortable indeed, looked anxiously at his niece.