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“Oh?” Pallas flushed. “When I am eighteen, I suppose,
instead of going to a London college of music?”
Kate shook her head. “No, not when you are eighteen.
Now. Right away.”
Pallas stared at her, eyes wide. “You mean ... instead of
going back to Cheddall?”
Kate nodded. “Yes. Are you pleased?”
Pallas gazed around, mouth open, eyes troubled. “ I ... do
not know. I prefer to concentrate on my music, of course.
You know I detest my other lessons. But ...” she looked at
Kate, smiling a little, “I shall miss you, Kate.” She grinned
at Sam. “And you, you conceited boy!”
Sam said seriously, “I’ll miss you too, Pallas. You must
write to us from Paris. Lucky you! Imagine ... Paris in the
summer! A lot better than Greyford, I can tell you.”
Pallas murmured, “Paris in the summer ...” Her eyes
were dreamy and far away.
Kate wondered if she were thinking about Jean-Paul. He
lived in Paris, she remembered. Was that why Marc was
sending his sister there? It would be just like him to have
thought out such a devious plan.
They went back to the house in a cheerful silence.
Watching Sam, Kate was convinced that her news had not
upset or worried him. He seemed sorry to be parting with
Pallas, but not unhappy.
Jean-Paul was sitting on the verandah. His grave
glance rested on Pallas, slight and cool in her white tennis
dress, her racquet swinging, her long brown legs moving
gracefully.
Kate saw a serious expression move over his face, then
