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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Pammy, dear, what have you been doing?" inquired Pam, gently. "Looking out the window and I ate some more plaster." Stolidly, with lack-lustre eyes, the culprit gazed at her benefactor. Pam sighed, but her mouth twitched. "I asked you not to." "I know. I didn't mean to, but it looked so good."
Perhaps she's eating plaster again," suggested Eliza, with the alertness that even charming children sometimes show when face to face with the crime of some contemporary. Pam did not laugh. Plaster-eating may be funny in other people's children, but seven-year-old Pammy, her adopted daughter, was too old to persist in the habit, and punishment seemed to have no effect on it.
What she in reality felt mostly, though she did not know it, was the lack of room in the flat. Used all her life to the large rooms of Kingsmead, she felt, now that the unusual heat had come, cramped and restless. It maddened her to have to make plans. Where should she go? How like that little wretch Pammy to go and have measles now.
And," continued Fancy, "you'd be a celebrity of course, which means that we should be in the magazines, with pictures A Corner of the Library, and The Rose-garden, looking West, and Mrs Palmerston Burt is not above playing with the Baby, and you with your favourite dog for we'd have both, by that time. Oh, Pammy, where is the book?"
January was spring at the Villa Arcadie, and as she went downstairs a strong scent of heliotrope and narcissi was wafted towards her. A boy stood in the hall carrying a basket. "Buon giorno, Beppino. Oh, what lovely flowers! Tell Giovanni to bring them to me in the salone, will you?" Crossing the hall she went into the dining-room, and there, as she had expected, sat Pammy.
Through an open door one saw a table at which sat a little girl of six, bending over a book with the unmistakable air of a child learning something uninteresting. "Eliza!" "Yes, mother?" Eliza looked up. She too was blonde, but her eyes were dark. "Where is Pammy, dear?" "I don't know, mother.
She hated being so late in town, but the Lenskys, to whom she had been going, had wired to put her off, as Pammy had come down with measles. And the wire having come only that morning, she had as yet made no other plan for the rest of the month. "Give me some cream, please," she said to the waiter, "without too much boracic acid powder in it."
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