o have no effect on it. The
house was old, and the walls defective in many places, and Pammy's joy
was to dig out bits of ancient plaster and consume it on the sly. It was
presumably bad for her stomach and indubitably bad for her character, as
the child persisted in it with a quiet effrontery that baulked
discipline. So Mrs. de Lensky rose, and bidding Eliza look after the
baby, started in search of the wicked one.

January was spring at the Villa Arcadie, and as she went downstairs a
strong scent of heliotrope and narcissi was wafted towards her. A boy
stood in the hall carrying a basket.

"_Buon giorno_, Beppino. Oh, what lovely flowers! Tell Giovanni to bring
them to me in the _salone_, will you?" Crossing the hall she went into
the dining-room, and there, as she had expected, sat Pammy.

Years before, when she had, half out of kindness, half out of
loneliness, adopted the little new-born girl, she had never meant to
marry. And when she did marry, neither she nor her husband wished to get
rid of the child. But the result had not been particularly satisfactory,
for Pammy had grown to be a very fat, very stolid person, with no nose
to speak of and no sense of humour at all, and every day that passed
seemed to leave her a little more unattractive than she had been the day
before.

Now, at seven, she was as tall as most children of ten, immensely fat,
with pendulous red cheeks that in spite of cold cream and soft water
always looked as though they had just been rubbed with a grater. Her
hair, long and fair, was dank, hanging in two emaciated pig-tails nearly
to her waist, and her nails--another ineradicable trick--bitten to the
deepest depths possible.

"Pammy, dear, what have you been doing?" inquired Pam, gently.

"Looking out the window--and I ate some more plaster." Stolidly, with
lack-lustre eyes, the culprit gazed at her benefactor.

Pam sighed, but her mouth twitched. "I asked you not to."

"I know. I didn't mean to, but--it looked so good."

"'_Tous les gouts sont dans la nature_,' my dear," quoted Lensky, coming
in at the open window, "there are even people who like German bands!"
Looking down at Pammy through his eyeglass, the sun fell full on his
head, betraying an incipient bald patch. Otherwise Lensky had aged not
at all since his marriage.

"I saw Lady Brigit just now," he said, suddenly, "down in the olive
grove. I think something has happened. She looked--queer."

Pam started. "Poor dear--I'