Last night, before she fell asleep, she felt assured that both Mollie and Hughie had made a mistake somehow--unlikely as it seemed. Now, the whole thing was awake again, and positively demanding attention. Poor Pamela felt the least bit gloomy about it; first, because she had read somewhere that if a person has a "double" in the world they are sure to die promptly; secondly, because she was becoming a butt for false accusations on all sides. She felt instinctively that Crow, her best friend, was a little suspicious, and Addie, of course, would be frankly sceptical. Only Hughie believed her. Hughie was a very wise person, not to be despised as a partner in difficulty. She slipped to her feet, and left the room, ran upstairs, and stood quietly listening at the top of the back stairs. No one was about. The voice of Mrs. Jeep conversing profoundly with Keziah, the house parlour-maid, was the only sound audible. The wide front stairs mounted from the hall into the long corridor, and were not used by servants. The backstairs came up from the kitchen passage to a lobby shut off by a green baize door, and went on upwards to the attics, which were large and charming rooms, with many cupboards, and the most perfect views in the house, out of quaint dormer windows. There were four at least and wide passage space also. Mrs. Jeep owned one; Keziah and Patty Ingles the between-maid shared another. One was a spare room for chance servant visitors, and the end one over Pamela’s and Hughie’s rooms was what is called a "box" room. Here was "luggage"--big, old-fashioned trunks, leather portmanteaux, large hat boxes. Neat piles of cardboard boxes--the sort that drapers and dressmakers send out--all sizes, and tidy stacks of brown paper--sacking--cords--all the odds and ends necessary for packing of any kind. There were chairs with burst cane seats, and baths needing paint, cans that leaked, and baskets damaged in various ways--these had waited through the war to be mended, and waited still for workers; Mrs. Romilly was a most methodical, tidy person and detested waste. Besides all this was the old nursery property of "dressing-up" chests--clothes for charades in winter--a rocking-horse, and the dolls’ houses; the thousand-and-one things that belong to a family of children. Hughie loved it all with a deep and faithful love. Secretly he played with the dolls’ houses, and set the small china-headed dolls round the loaded tables for their silent meals with affectionate care. Pamela knew all about these matters, but she was far too loyal to betray the secret. When she came into this big chamber of treasure trove she stood still and looked round. The fact that nobody was visible did not convince her that nobody was there. "Hullo!" she said in a low voice. "Hullo!" returned a small voice in an absorbed tone.