Left alone, the Countess sat down with some force and cried furious tears. Then she took her hat off and threw it on the floor--flung her gloves one way and her shoes another. Then she rang the bell violently, ordered Mrs. Chipman to pick the things up--and marched upstairs in her stockings with high held chin. She would not go out--to-night--or to-morrow--perhaps not for one or two more days, but _wait_. She had plenty of money; she would not be trammelled by these common people--after all what could they do to her? That was the point naturally--what they could do that mattered? She had been in England a long time. Quite long enough to understand that nobody would hurt her, whatever she did; but not long enough to appreciate kindness at its true value--which was sad, in many ways. Therefore she settled her own plan, in her own way, went to bed and slept soundly. At the Bell House life assumed something of the old peace. Nothing happened in the Badger line--having cast his bolt, the wily master of Champles Farm was not quite certain what to do next. Christobel smiled on Pamela, who in her turn summoned up courage to ask what she had done with that handkerchief. "Gave it to the Little Pilgrim," said Crow. "What did she say?" "Nothing." "Didn’t she say one word? Didn’t she know _anything_?" persisted poor Pam, disappointed. "She looked at the initial, and I don’t think she was surprised. I don’t know why, but my feeling said she wasn’t surprised. I told her about the brooch and--and a few things I’d noticed," went on Crow, turning a little pink under her sister’s anxious gaze. "She nodded, and listened--that was all; but one felt she’d do something--quietly, without fuss! I don’t know why one should always expect her to, but one does." Pamela was thinking: "She’ll help. She _knows_----" Her face cleared a little. "Pam," began Christobel with a sudden impulse to get nearer this isolated little sister, "I don’t like asking if you don’t--I mean if you’ve something private. But do you mind telling me if you went on the yawl that Tuesday night--before our sail?" Pamela looked startled, hesitated a moment, and then said: "No--I was never out of bed." Christobel, seeing a disturbed look in her eyes, answered with a questioning: "Truly, Pam?" "On my honour, Crow. Honour bright! I was asleep, and I never knew anything about it. I didn’t know things had been disarranged, till afterwards." "But Hughie?" Christobel brought out the two words as half exclamation, half question. "I’d rather you didn’t ask me about anyone else, Crow," said Pam imploringly; "I can only tell you that you needn’t think Midget naughty. He is absolutely _wonderful_. His pluck and his sense too. I don’t believe there’s a child to equal him in England! If you only----" she checked herself, and added in rather a choky tone, "Least said soonest mended, I suppose! ’Wait till the clouds roll by’, dear old thing; they will, some day."