Very gladly would they and Reginald Candover’s two daughters have hidden themselves away until the excitement of the trial had subsided. But Gerard and his wife had to give evidence against the prisoners, and they were, therefore, compelled to remain in England. And Pamela and Babs, after the first painful sting of mortification and distress was over, found some comfort in the society of Audrey, who loved them both, and in the kindness of Lord Clanfield, who insisted on keeping the whole party at his place in Hampshire until the public excitement had subsided, and they could all make up their minds as to their future. The two girls were heartily glad of this arrangement; for although they frequently saw their mother, by the viscount’s express desire, that unfortunate lady had lived so long shut up from the world, that she was wholly unfitted for the society of young people, and even in the presence of her own daughters she was reserved and eccentric to the point of making them wonder whether long confinement had not indeed injured her brain. It was evident that the best plan both for her and for the girls would be for her to remain with her sister, and for the young people to find some other home. It was while this matter was still under discussion among the various persons concerned, that an unexpected visitor arrived one day at Lord Clanfield’s place, driving swiftly through the park in a smart dark green motor-car. Pamela was walking in the park, with a couple of collies at her heels. The February air was keen and cold, and she was running, with her white muff held up to her pretty pink cheeks, while the dogs, both young things, full of life and of play, leapt and bounded round her. One of them, however, attracted dangerously by the motor-car, ran barking towards it, and was only saved from annihilation by a dexterous movement on the part of the driver. Pamela ran forward, calling the dog and scolding him, and the motor-car stopped. “How-do-you-do, Miss Pamela?” “Oh, Sir Harry!” “Drive on,” said Sir Harry Archdale to the chauffeur, as he got out, and shook hands with the girl, whose sudden loss of colour betrayed the mingled feelings of shame and shy pleasure with which the meeting inspired her. They had not met since the terrible discoveries of the trial, and tears of mortification sprang to Pamela’s eyes when she remembered the difference there was between her position when they had last met and her position now. Then she had been one of the daughters of the rich, well-known, highly-respected Mr. Candover, well off, happy in some vague but yet dazzling future, full of hope and happiness. Now she and Babs were outcasts, none the less that they had found kind friends; they were the daughters of a man whose name could not be uttered in their presence, they were poor, they were overwhelmed with doubt as to the future.