All my love, Biddy .-- Yours, PAM." * * * * * Three hours later the express stopped at the junction.

The train was waiting on the branch line that terminated at Priorsford, and after a breathless rush over a high bridge in the dark Pamela and her maid, Mawson, found themselves bestowed in an empty carriage by a fatherly porter.
Mawson was not a real lady's maid: one realised that at once.

She had been a housemaid for some years in the house in Grosvenor Street, and Pamela, when her own most superior maid flatly refused to accompany her on this expedition, had asked Mawson to be her maid, and Mawson had gladly accepted the offer.

She was a middle-aged woman with a small brown face, an obvious _toupee_, and an adventurous spirit.
She now tidied the carriage violently, carefully hiding the book Pamela had been reading and putting the cushion on the rack.

Finally, tucking the travelling-rug firmly round her mistress, she remarked pleasantly, "A h'eight hours' journey without an 'itch!" "Certainly without an aitch," thought Pamela, as she said, "You like travelling, Mawson ?" "Oh yes, m'm.