He was very sorry for 'old Pam.' His father's opinions and behaviour were too queer for words.
He would be jolly worried if he had to stay long at home, like Pamela.

But then he wasn't going to be long at home.

He was going off to his artillery camp in two days, and the thought filled him with a restless and impatient delight.

At the same time he was more tolerant of his father than Pamela was, though he could not have told why.
'Desmond, give me your foot,' Pamela presently commanded.
The boy bared his foot obediently, and held it out while Pamela tried on a sock she had just finished knitting on a new pattern.
'I'm not very good at it,' sighed Pamela.

'Are you sure you can wear them, Dezzy ?' 'Wear them?
Ripping!' said the boy, surveying his foot at different angles.