It was true that the Countess had remained a quiet prisoner through nearly a fortnight of dreary, windy, gusty, sunless weather, and Pamela’s soft heart was melted towards her. After all, she was only fourteen, there was such an odd bond in the likeness and the age. Again, no one had been told but Pam that her father was killed, and she had been bandied about from house to house like a portmanteau of clothes left behind. Pamela did not know who she was, but guessed her of considerable importance, not that that mattered in her eyes, but it accounted for things. Pam’s theory was that somehow "Government was responsible", in which belief she was "very warm", as people say in hide-and-seek. That explained Sir Marmaduke, who was always on Commissions, and cloaked in official secrecy--and blindness. Anyway it would not matter if she met the girl once; she would soon see if the Countess was "getting nicer", as Pamela said to herself. So she decided to go, and talk to her for ten minutes, also, to tell no one, as she was adjured in the letter; no one, not even Hughie. From that moment dated a most amazing adventure, one that might easily have cost the lives of several people, including this weighty charge of the great K.C. Adrian and Christobel went out for a short sail as usual, came back, moored the yawl--she was safe enough on her strong holding ground--pulled up the dinghy, and appeared at tea saying the weather looked beastly. There had been over a fortnight of this horrible broken-up outlook, and according to Adrian there might be a month. Long sails had been abandoned. The persistent pair got a run out and back most days, either morning or afternoon, for two hours at the outside just for experience and exercise, as has been said already. They had never once remained out to tea; hardly ever for lunch. It was not tempting enough. They came in, on this particular day, before four o’clock, having gone out at two. "No good," said Adrian; "silly ass the weather is. I say, Crow, why not racquets in the garage after tea--there is no car as it’s gone to be done up--we shan’t hurt the walls. Ask Mother." Mrs. Romilly agreed placidly; she preferred it to sails in ugly weather, even if the plaster came down! Hughie retreated again to the cave. Pamela disappeared by herself. That was just about ten minutes past five.