To this Pamela said nothing, but she formed an inward resolve that she would have nothing to do with this expedition. *CHAPTER VIII* *"Little Friend of all the World"* On a certain evening, a couple of days or so after this, the sky cleared beautifully, and the sun went down with grand promise of fine weather again. Miss Chance was correcting French exercises in the library when Adrian and Christobel entered, very hot and triumphant--the Bell House lawns were mown to perfection, and to-morrow would suit in all ways for the fetching back of the yawl. "It must be done to-morrow," Adrian threw himself with a crash on the springy sofa, "_must_ be--we can’t leave the _Messenger_ at Salterne any longer. She must be on her moorings by this time to-morrow." "I hope you will have a fine day, then," said Miss Chance, placing papers aside in a neat heap, "you had a terrible storm the day of your last expedition--terrible. I always think though that thunder and lightning and such terrors must be sent for some good purpose--to teach us something." "They teach you not to leave your oilskins behind," suggested Adrian from the floor. "Oh, hush, dear boy--is that quite nice?" said the excellent woman in a shocked voice--and then changing the subject with rather laboured vivacity she went on: "Really I wish dear Pam would concentrate more. She is having so few lessons now that she ought to be giving of her very best. One would think her mind was entirely distracted. I told her so, and her reply was _most_ unconvincing--she said if she had twelve times as much to do she would do it twelve times as well! Most unreasoning." "I don’t agree with you, my dear Floweret," said Adrian, "I agree with Pam. If you are in for a fearful grind--well, there you are--you grind; you get acclimatized, so to speak, like people living on the west coast of Africa. After a bit you thrive on the beastly thing--in fact revel in it. Whereas if you make a snatch at it--well, there’s a hopeless failure." Good Miss Chance gave a crackling laugh; she was devoted to Adrian, especially when he slapped her on the back and called her the Floweret, or "my good Blossom"--in cheerful allusion to her pretty name. She plunged into argument with zest therefore. "The west coast of Africa," she said, "is not nearly so subject to pestilence and dangerous malaria as it used to be. Advancing science has taught us how to deal with these things--and what has it to do with French exercises! I am sure you cannot be thinking reasonably. What else can be expected from your position, which is exactly the opposite to what was intended for the use of a sofa."