"Pamela! Packed yet? Girl from Avondale is here!" shouted Mrs. McNee to her daughter up- stairs.

It was raining in Hammersmith and the van had pulled up outside the flat shortly after two.

"Be there in a jiff, mom!" came the voice from

Pamela's bedroom.

The clicking heels of Pamela's shoes sounded on the stairs as she came bouncing down with her suitcase. Mrs. McNee was in the vestibule talking to the woman with long blonde hair, rather ner- vously of course, for there really wasn't much to say. The woman was perhaps twenty-three and quite attractive, though her obviously slim figure was well concealed in a dripping raincoat. Mrs.

McNee handed Pamela her slicker without com- ment. Everything had already been said, many times over, for the last three weeks. Shoplifting had been a lark at first for Pamela, then rather exciting. Until she was nicked.

It had taken much influence with the magistrate from one of Mrs. McNee's solicitor acquaintances, and much money, to arrange for Pamela's stay at

Avondale. After all, she was seventeen and old enough to spend three years in Women's Prison at

Eeling as her sentence called for. It had taken some doing, some pleading and some convincing, but finally it was arranged to admit Pamela to Avon- dale, Certainly six months there would he better than three years in jail, without question. Besides, at Avondale a girl could continue her studies.

Avondale was well known to most, sophisticated

Londoners, and, by reputation, to many girls as well. The quaint, ivy-covered school had nestled in the rolling hills of Avonshire since 1845 and served, until after World War Two, as one of the many training schools for young ladies, so fashion- able in those delightful times when the whip and cane were deemed proper and necessary for the proper maturity and breeding of every girl who wished to really be anything at all.