"Ah! no," she cried, putting out both hands as if to push him off; "not that way, Lord Glengall."
She closed her eyes at the moment, and like a sudden stab there came the thought of the young lover who had kissed her in this place, deadly sweet and deadly cruel as well.
"I beg your pardon, Pam," said Glengall's quiet and patient voice. "Of course, I am too old."
"Oh! no, but I am not the right person—that is all. You must marry someone who loves you. I—I am the wrong person."
"We won't talk about it, then," said Glengall, turning away his head. "We must find some other way, Pam."
Pamela jumped up and ran to him, and, as she had often done, thrust her arm into his.
"You are a thousand times too good for a stupid, ungrateful girl like me." She hugged his arm to her unconsciously. "I should be a thousand times a happier girl if I did love you and married you. Indeed, it oughtn't to be hard to love you."
Lord Glengall patted her head.
"Thank you, Pam," he said, "for being sorry for me. I don't deserve your goodness; I am a selfish old fellow for wanting a lovely young creature like you. Ah! Pam, we should form those ties when we are young. Then we should not feel useless and lonely old blocks when we have left our youth behind."
"You're not going to be unhappy?" cried Pam, still hugging his arm.