“Er—­Miss Bathgate——­” Pamela began.

There was no answer from Bella, who was putting the dishes on a tray.  Had she addressed her rightly?

“You are Miss Bathgate, aren’t you?”

“Ou ay,” said Bella.  “I’m no’ mairret nor naething o’ that kind.”

“I see.  Well, Miss Bathgate, I wonder if you would mind if Mawson—­my maid, you know—­carried away some of those ornaments and photographs to a safe place?  It would be such a pity if we broke any of them, for, of course, you must value them greatly.  These vases now, with the pretty grasses, it would be dreadful if anything happened to them, for I’m sure we could never, never replace them.”

“Uch ay,” Bella interrupted.  “I got them at the pig-cairt in exchange for some rags.  He’s plenty mair o’ the same kind.”

“Oh, really,” Pamela said helplessly.  “The fact is, a few things of my own will be arriving in a day or two—­a cushion or two and that sort of thing—­to make me feel at home, you know, so if you would very kindly let us make room for them, I should be so much obliged.”

Bella Bathgate looked round the grim chamber that was to her as the apple of her eye, and sighed for the vagaries of “the gentry.”

“Aweel,” she said, “I’ll pit them in a kist until ye gang awa’.  I’ve never had lodgers afore.”  And as she carried out the tray there was a baleful gleam in her eye as if she were vowing to herself that she would never have them again.

Pamela gave a gasp of relief when the door closed behind the ungracious back of her landlady, and started when it opened again, but this time it was only Mawson.

She hailed her.  “Mawson, we must get something done to this room.  Lift all these vases and photographs carefully away.  Miss Bathgate says she will put them somewhere else in the meantime.  And we’ll wire to Grosvenor Street for some cushions and rugs—­this is too hopeless.  Are you quite comfortable Mawson?”

“Yes, Miss.  I ’ave me meals in the kitchen, Miss, for Miss Bathgate don’t want to keep another fire goin’.  A nice cosy kitchen it is, Miss.”

“Then I wish I could have my meals there, too.”

“Oh, Miss!” cried Mawson in horror.

“Does Miss Bathgate talk to you, Mawson?”

“Not to say talk, Miss.  She don’t even listen much; says she can’t understand my ‘tongue.’  Funny, ain’t it?  Seems to me it’s ’er that speaks strange.  But I expect we’ll be friends in time, Miss.  You do ’ave to give the Scotch time:  bit slow they are....  What I wanted to h’ask, Miss, is where am I to put your things?  That little wardrobe and chest of drawers ’olds next to nothing.”

“Keep them in the trunks,” said Pamela.  “I think Miss Bathgate would like to see us departing with them to-day, but I won’t be beat.  In Priorsford we are, in Priorsford we remain....  I’ll write out some wires and you will explore for a post office.  I shall explore for an upholsterer who can supply me with an arm-chair not hewn from the primeval rock.”