Mrs. Romilly promised to ask after a decent interval, and the matter dropped for the moment. Nothing more happened about it except that, missing Hughie, Pamela sought him in "the cave" later on, where he was absorbed in making a doll’s ulster out of a bit of checked fluffy material that had been given to Hennery Doe to make strips of, wherewith to fasten down the arms of plum trees on the north wall. Hughie, seeing infinite possibilities in the bit of stuff, had calmly annexed it, and it was now taking shape, the "arm-sleeves" proving a tough problem, owing to the thickness of the stuff and the smallness of the doll. "Well," said the workman, when Pam looked over the barrier. "There’s a new bother, Midget." "I know. I saw your face. Is it about that girl?" Pamela explained about the brooch; telling the story of it. "It’s rather tiresome," allowed Hughie, turning the coat inside out. "I wonder what she’ll do?" Pam’s tone was worried. "She might go and ask for it." "She couldn’t ask Miss Ashington, she doesn’t know her," said Pamela quickly. "She’s the kind of person who might do things you didn’t think about. I don’t care for that sort of girl." Hughie spoke as one with life-long experience. "You’d better look out, Pam." "How can I look out?" retorted Pamela almost irritably. She was never cross with Hughie. "Well," said the Midget, recognizing that she had much excuse, "we may as well both look out, for I’m pretty sure she’s rather a tiresome person." That was all the comfort Pamela received, but poor as it was, in a way it did comfort her; there was something so imperturbable about Hughie, it made her feel less inclined to exaggerate. Evening fell, rather dark, because the moon rose late. Miss Adelaide Ashington sat outside in the broad tessellated piazza, that ran along the south-west front of Crown Hill house. It was a handsome house; white, in the Italian style; the gardens were beautiful when in good order. Auntie A. had her breakfast outside as a rule, often her tea--but not dinner, because lights being necessary--for eating at any rate, when your dinner-hour is late--she was afraid moths and other creatures would fly into the lamps. So she sat out after dinner, in the growing shadows, sipped coffee, and comforted Charles, who was recovering from internal disorder. A tall slim figure came towards her from the gardens, walking with easy assurance among the shadowy flowerbeds. Charles heaved himself up on his cushion, and barked weightily in a strangled manner. Miss Ashington, looking about for the cause, said: "Well--well--well--it’s only our dear Pamela--what a fuss--what a fuss." Charles choked in his endeavours to express disapproval, and "our dear Pamela" came up to the piazza and greeted his mistress.