Betty Trevor | Page 3

through the same tragedy in
secret, but they are not all fortunate enough to possess an adoring
younger sister who thinks her all that she fain would be.
Pam put out a little ink-stained hand, and stroked the half-finished
blouse admiringly.
"It's going to be lubly, Bet! It hardly shows a bit where you joined it.
You'll soon have finished it now."
"No, I shan't," snapped Betty. "There's heaps to do still, and it's getting
too cold for cottons. Just my luck! I always seem to be making
mistakes. It wasn't my fault that that stupid girl looked up and caught us
watching."
The underlying thought showed itself in the sudden change of subject,
but Pam was not surprised, for in her quiet, shrewd little way she had
divined it long ago.
"But you said she'd look up, so you could have moved if you liked. I
don't think it was very perlite," she said solemnly. "There were all four
of you at the window, and my eyes peeping round Miles' back. I expect
it looked pretty fearful. She went purple, didn't she? It's horrid to blush!
I did once when I got a prize before people, and I hated it."

"Oh, you! You are a modest little mouse. The Pet is quite different.
Nasty thing, she might have been satisfied without making mischief
between Miles and me! She has everything that she wants, and that I
want, and haven't got. She's pretty, and rich, and has a lovely big house
and heaps of people to wait upon her, and nice things, and-- everything!
You can't think how I hate her!"
Pam leant her thin arms on the table, and meditated for a long,
thoughtful moment. When she spoke, it was, as usual, to deliver herself
of the unexpected.
"That's what you call `envy, hatred, and malice,' I s'pose," she said
thoughtfully, and Betty's head came up with a jerk to turn upon her a
glance of suspicious inquiry.
No! The round, grey eyes were as clear, as innocent, as guilelessly
adoring as she had ever seen them. They gazed into her own without a
shadow of self-consciousness, and as she met that gaze Betty flushed,
and the irritable lines disappeared from her face as if wiped out by a
sponge.
"One for you, Pam," she cried, laughing. "I am a pig! A nice big elder
sister I am, to set you such an example! I'm cross, dear. Everything has
gone wrong the whole day long. You had better run off and leave me
alone, or I'll snap again. I feel all churned up inside! This is only a
temporary lapse."
"There's scones for tea; I saw the bag in the pantry. S'pose I went
downstairs and coaxed cook to toast them? You said yourself toasted
scones were soothing. If Miles smells them he's sure to come," said
Pam shrewdly, and Betty leant forward and kissed her impetuously on
the cheek.
"There's one comfort," she cried; "I've got you, and the Pet hasn't! You
are the comfort of my old age, Pamela, my child. Yes, toasted! And lots
of butter, and leave the door wide open, so that the smell may get out,
and lure Miles back."

CHAPTER TWO.
THE PEOPLE OF THE SQUARE.
Brompton Square is situated on the north side of Hyde Park, between
the Marble Arch and Lancaster Gate, and is as stiff and, for the greater
portion of the year, as gloomy in appearance as most of the regions in
the neighbourhood. The different sides of the Square differ widely in
social status, the northern side being the most, and the eastern side the
least, aristocratic and roomy. The largest house of all was a great grey
stone edifice, having a stretch of three windows on either side of the
heavy oak door. The smallest and shabbiest stood at right angles to it,
showing a shabby frontage of two windows to the gardens, and having
its front entrance in a side street. Really and truly it could barely claim
to belong to the Square at all, though the landlord claimed, and the
doctor tenant felt it worth while to pay, a heavy rent for the privilege of
printing a fashionable address upon his cards.
Behind the silken curtains and brise-bise of Number 14, the "Pampered
Pet" had her residence. At Number 1 the doctor's big family was so
crowded together that Betty was thankful to appropriate a front attic as
the only chance of possessing that luxury dear to every girlish heart--"a
bedroom to herself!" It was not a luxurious apartment, but it was pretty,
as every girl's bedroom may easily be, if she has the will to make it so.
The hemp carpet had long since faded to a nondescript grey, but the
pink-washed walls were hung