"I should like to see Jean." "Well," said Mhor, "come in with me now and see her.

I should be doing my lessons anyway, and you can tell her where I've been." "Won't she think me rather pushing ?" Pamela asked.
"Oh, I don't know," said Mhor carelessly.

"Jean's kind to everybody--tramps and people who sing in the street and little cats with no homes.

Hadn't you better put on your hat ?" So Pamela obediently put on her hat and coat and went with her new friends down the road a few steps and up the flagged path to the front door of the funny little house that kept its back turned to its parvenu neighbours, and its eyes lifted to the hills.
In Mhor led her, Peter following hard behind, through a square, low-roofed entrance-hall with a polished floor, into a long room with one end coming to a point in an odd-shaped window, rather like the bow of a ship.
A girl was sitting in the window with a large basket of darning beside her.
"Jean," cried Mhor as he burst in, "here's the Honourable.

I asked her to come in and see you.