Oh, I'm _glad_'-- she clenched her hands as she stood opposite him, her beautiful head thrown back--'I'm thankful, that you can't stop Desmond!' Mannering looked at her, frowned, turned abruptly, and went away whistling.
Pamela was left alone in the September evening.

She betook herself to an old grass-grown walk between yew hedges at the bottom of the Dutch garden, and paced it in a tumult of revolt and pain.

Not to go to Chetworth again! not to see Beryl, or any of them! How cruel! how monstrously unjust! 'I shan't obey!--why should I?
Beryl and I must manage to see each other--of course we shall! Girls aren't the slaves they used to be.
If a thing is unjust, we can fight it--we ought to fight it!--somehow.

Poor, poor Beryl! Of course Aubrey will stick to her, whatever father does.

He would be a cur if he didn't.