‘How old do you think she is?’ said Desmond, nodding in the direction of the library.

‘Well, she’s over thirty.’

‘She doesn’t look it.’

‘Oh, Desmond, she does!’

‘Let’s call her the New Broom—­Broomie for short,’ said Desmond.  ’Look here, Pam, I wish you’d try and like her.  I shall have a dreadful hump when I get to camp if I think she’s going to make you miserable.’

‘Oh, I’ll try,’ said the girl with dreary resignation.  ’You know I’m not to see Beryl again?’ She looked up.

Her brother laughed.

’Don’t I see you keeping to that!  If Aubrey’s any good he’ll marry her straight away.  And then how can father boycott her after that?’

‘He will,’ said Pamela decisively.

’And if father thinks I’m going to give up Arthur, he’s jolly well mistaken,’ said the boy with energy.  ’Arthur’s the best fellow I know, and he’s been just ripping to me.’

The young face softened and glowed as though under the stress of some guarded memory.  Pamela, looking up, caught her brother’s expression and glowed too.

’Beryl says he isn’t a bit strong yet.  But he’s moving heaven and earth to get back to the front.’

’Well, if they don’t give him enough to do he’ll be pretty sick.  He’s no good at loafing.’

There was silence a little.  Outside a misty sunshine lay on the garden and the park and in it the changing trees were beginning to assume the individuality and separateness of autumn after the levelling promiscuity of the summer.  The scene was very English and peaceful; and between it and the two young creatures looking out upon it there were a thousand links of memory and association.  Suddenly Desmond said: 

‘Do you remember that bother I got into at Eton, Pam?’

Pamela nodded.  Didn’t she remember it?  A long feud with another boy—­ending in a highly organized fight—­absolute defiance of tutor and housemaster on Desmond’s part—­and threatened expulsion.  The Squire’s irritable pride had made him side ostentatiously with his son, and Pamela could only be miserable and expect the worst.  Then suddenly the whole convulsion had quieted down, and Desmond’s last year at Eton had been a very happy one.  Why?  What had happened?  Pamela had never known.

’Well, Arthur heard of it from “my tutor.”  He and Arthur were at Trinity together.  And Arthur came over from Cambridge and had me out for a walk, and jawed me, jawed “my tutor,” jawed the Head, jawed everybody.  Oh, well no good going into the rotten thing,’ said Desmond, flushing, ‘but Arthur was awfully decent anyway.’