The young man seemed conscious of all this too, though the knowledge only served to deepen the kindly feeling with which he spoke, to fill his eyes with sympathy which he did not dare to express in words. Instead of speaking on any subject of interest to either, he rambled into a confused account of his adventures with various dogs and other animals during his first attempts at driving his own car. It was disconnected enough, but Pamela laughed politely and made no attempt at conversational efforts on her own account. And then presently he came to a dead stop. His stock of vapid anecdote had run dry, and she showed signs of being about to call her dogs and continue her walk. Something must be done, something bold, something daring, desperate. “I--I knew you were staying here,” stammered he at last, suddenly losing control of the muscles of his face, and growing red and white and all sorts of colours. “But--I--I--I didn’t like to come before. Only--when somebody said you--you were g-g-going abroad, I--I--I felt I must come.” “To say good-bye. It’s very kind of you,” panted Pamela quickly. “No, no, no. You know I didn’t mean that. Look here. I--I want to ask you something. Isn’t it--a little awkward--to be here--even if they’re nice, and of course they are nice?” said Sir Harry, speaking more and more quickly, and wholly unable to choose appropriate and inoffensive expressions. Pamela raised her pretty head proudly. “Oh, of course it’s awkward, dreadfully, dreadfully awkward. But what of that? It must always be awkward--for us--everywhere--_now_.” “I don’t see why it should.” She turned upon him fiercely. “Oh, yes, you do, you must. Everybody knows who we are, and all about us. And kind as everybody is, it’s dreadful all the same. Of course we shall get over it some day, but now--oh, don’t talk about it, don’t, don’t.” “Young Angmering looks much better!” said Sir Harry by way of a diversion, glancing towards the garden, where Gerard was walking briskly, whip in hand, from the stables towards his wife, who was leaning out of one of the lower windows and smiling at him. “Oh, yes. It’s hardly possible to believe that he was threatened with consumption only a few months ago. I’m so glad, for poor Audrey’s sake. After all she went through, it’s lovely to see her so happy at last!” “Yes. I don’t quite like, myself, to approach her. I--I feel most awfully uncomfortable after--after--er--er--er.” The unfortunate young man stopped short, remembering that it was through the misunderstanding created by Pamela’s father that he had misjudged poor Audrey. Pamela laughed sadly. “Oh, you can speak out,” she said. “It’s of no use for me--for Babs and me, to pretend not to know the mischief _he_ caused. But I am thankful to say the last traces of it are passing away now.” The young man twirled his moustache fiercely. “I’m so sorry----” said he. “I--I don’t know how I could be such a donkey as to--as to----”