She turned round and went back into the drawing-room, leaving Mrs. Chipman blown out like an angry bird with feathers on end. Pamela followed--thinking hard, "receive me! Cheek!" and the other revelation--"So Countess wasn’t a dog! I wonder what sort of Countess!" In the drawing-room with the door closed, the two girls faced each other standing. And Pamela was again struck by the beauty and imperious style of this odd "double". Also, she had to admit how wonderfully alike they were in general effect. Pamela began the conversation. "I’ve come about your--note," she said with a little gesture of her hand towards her skirt pocket, "I suppose you don’t realize that you mistook the room and threw it into my brother’s window?" "Oh, the little boy’s room. He gave it to you?" "Yes." "Did he read it?" "I don’t understand you," said Pam frowning. "Did he open it when he picked it up in his room?" "Naturally not," Pamela stiffened, "you don’t seem to understand. No decent people open other people’s letters." Countess shrugged her shoulders. "Just so. That is well then. But if you received my note why did you not come to the wood?" "Come! When?" "The hour that I appointed. 8.30." Pamela raised her eyebrows. "So you expected me to go to Clawtol at half-past eight this morning, because you wished it! Doesn’t it occur to you that you are--well--rather presumptuous? Why--on--earth--should I?" Pamela fired off each word, as it were, with a separate emphasis. The girl seemed a little taken aback by this way of looking at things. "Wretched creature," thought Pamela suddenly, with the broad instinct of fair play natural to girls of her upbringing, "she’s always had her own way. She thinks herself a little tin god! She doesn’t understand!" "Can I sit down?" she said aloud, and without waiting for an answer took her seat on a big sofa, near the window. The other girl moved a step or two nearer, and sat down at the other end of the same sofa. "Well, look here," went on Pamela, "let’s understand each other, if you don’t mind, then there won’t be any bother." "Is there some bother?" asked the other girl. Pamela controlled her temper with effort. The assumption of superiority was so aggravating. "There will be a good deal of bother, if you do unreasonable things," she went on, trying to be indifferent. "If you want to send notes would you kindly leave them at the front door, because----" "Impossible," interrupted the Countess decidedly, "you see I am not supposed to go outside these grounds. If I were to walk to your house openly I should betray myself. I do not stay in the grounds of course, because I wish to go outside. But I employ my own means." Pamela looked at her with a frustrated feeling. If only the girl were not so horribly "cock-sure"! "Well, look here," she began at another point, "will you tell me your name? I find it a bit difficult to talk without knowing it."