A smile or two, a few of Pamela's softly spoken sentences, and David had succumbed.

Not that he allowed her--or anyone else--to know it.

He kept at a respectable distance, and worshipped in silence.
One evening while Pamela sat stitching at her embroidery in the little parlour at Hillview her brother laid down the book he was reading, lit a cigarette, and said suddenly, "What of the Politician, Pam ?" Pamela drew the thread in and out several times before she answered.
"The Politician is safe so far as I'm concerned.

Only last week I wrote and explained matters to him.

He wrote a very nice letter in reply.