A journey to Salterne next day was out of the question, because the weather had taken the bit between its teeth and was behaving badly. This happens so often after a thunderstorm that nobody was surprised; everyone simply looked out for something to do. Adrian plunged with vigour into a brief spell of mowing. It seemed wise to grapple with the rapidly growing grass while there was nothing better on hand. Christobel, feeling uneasy, sought an opportunity for private conversation with her sister. She was uneasy, because she believed it was somehow all right--though it looked all wrong--and she didn’t know how to begin. Pamela was alone in the library, sitting in the biggest leather chair after a style of her own, that is, inside the chair with her long slim legs hanging over the arm, and her knees forming a satisfactory rest for the inevitable book. Christobel entered on this scene of peaceful comfort with a direct question, after her way: "Oh, Pam, there you are. I rather wanted to ask you something." She shut the door, and came forward to take a seat on the edge of the writing-table, near the big chair. Pamela glanced at her and detected mystery. She did not say so, though, but let her gaze rest again on the interesting page and murmured: "All right. Fire away." "You don’t mind my asking, Pam, but did Mother send you out--send you anywhere--last night?" The inquiry was made awkwardly. Crow flushed rather pink. "How do you mean?" Pamela’s intent blue gaze was raised, and she looked curiously at her sister’s face. "How do you mean ’send me out’, Crow?" "Well, is there any mystery about it?" "About what?" "About you being out last evening?" Pamela remained silent for quite a minute; she was reviewing swiftly in her mind what the time was when she had returned from Woodrising--after her ineffective search-visit. Eight o’clock! She was back before eight, of course, because supper was timed for eight and she was in--with a brief period for dressing. After that pause she answered: "I don’t know what you are driving at, my dear Crow." But of course Christobel had noticed the hesitation. It made her feel rather stronger. "Do you mind telling me when you did come in, Pam? I ask for a reason." "Well, if you seriously want to know," answered the younger girl rather stiffly, "I was in just in time to change for supper--and supper was at eight o’clock--later than usual. That was because Mum had put the food back thinking you and Addie would be home." "Ten to _eight_?" "Well, why not? It was nearly dark, but the moon had begun--besides, we’d been mewed up indoors an awful lot with the rain." Pamela was throwing out little feelers of excuse--as it were--for her wanderings round Woodrising, in case she had been seen. Somebody had told Christobel something, she believed firmly, and her defensive instinct made her rather stiff. "Well, _I_ was meaning about ten minutes to _ten_--not eight," said the elder girl.