"Ah, you see, I don't care seriously for boys. I like them well enough to talk to; but Glengall one can take seriously."
"He didn't join your court, though."
"No, he wouldn't. I actually went up to have a little chat with him, and he said, as if I were four years old: 'Now you must go and talk to the boys, Miss Sylvia. I don't want a dozen duels on my hands.'"
"I daresay he thought you a forward minx."
"I don't think he would. Only he would take some persuading to believe that I really preferred talking to him. He stood in a corner then, and watched Pam out of his nice, kind, faithful eyes."
"He wouldn't have any nonsense in his head about Pam? You don't mean that?"
"Oh, I don't think he's in love with Pam. He'd look just the same at me if he thought I was tired or melancholy. I think I'll try it."
"Let him alone, minx. But here we are," as the carriage stopped. "Wake up, sleepy-head!"—to Pam—"you can get to bed as fast as you like now."
But even when Pam was in bed, Sylvia still paced up and down, waving her big fan.
"I'm too excited to sleep, you old dunderhead," she said. "I wish it was all to come over again."