As the Romilly trio came up he leaned out and made a gesture of summons to Pamela, who stepped forward to meet it. Timothy explained that her bicycle was ready, "if so be" as she would be content to risk a probable collapse of the tyre at an early date. "Them at the works," explained Mr. Batt, "can’t make no job of it. A new tyre is what ’e wants--they don’t take no ’sponsibilities." "They’ve been such an age over it already," said Pamela, annoyed, "weeks--I must ask about the tyre--I wish I’d known, Timothy." "Well, missie, ’twasn’t for want o’ me tellin’ of you. ’Tis a matter of two weeks or more--us coming up along Folly Ho Road--pretty near dark it were, and that I marked because I says to the missus ’twas a lone place for you that hour. I called out, and stopped be roadside right enough to told you what they says down works. ’Thank ’e’, says you--nobbut that, and on you goes. Bein’ as I was home goin’ and I didn’t stop. There ’twas----" "Oh," said Pamela uncertainly. "Oh, I see----" She moved on a step, then she turned back to the cart and told Timothy she would write to the works, "or Mother would". Timothy Batt informed the missus that evening that "Miss Pamela looked ’pined’," and "she’d a lost way with her--happen she’s growed too tall to be hearty," said the carrier. Pamela certainly felt both "pined" and "lost" as she walked on with the others. She had no doubt whatever that this was another case of her "double", and glancing sideways at Adrian, as he walked along balancing neatly on the curb, saw the look on his face that she had begun to know now. Crow remained perfectly stolid, changing the subject at once to something far removed from bicycles and Timothy Batt. In old days, both would have said to her at once, "What were you doing on the Folly Ho Road at that time?" Now, nobody spoke, and to poor Pamela it was a sort of brand proclaiming her outlawed from the family confidence. On the top of the handkerchief affair it was rather shattering, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. However, she called up her resolution to hearten herself, swallowed the pain, and tried to take it all philosophically. After all, it would be explained presently, and in the meantime she was doing what she thought right by the girl who had asked for her silence. Sails do not always turn out "according to plan", but this one did--as far as getting to the creek below Champles Farm was concerned. It was the loveliest place, though hardly worthy to be called a creek when it came to an anchorage. On such a day, with an off-shore wind, the place was perfection. And once more the spirits of the three recovered the usual level. Adrian dropped the anchor, and the white yawl lay on the smooth sea exactly like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean", while her crew went ashore.