"Could you think of it, Pam?"
Pamela looked at him incredulously.
"Poor Glengall would like to marry you, Pam. He's troubled about you, poor fellow. He'd like to take you away, and show you all the beautiful world, and lavish his wealth upon you. Could you do it, Pam?"
To his consternation, Pam put down her head on the study-table, and burst into tears.
"There, Pam, there! I didn't mean to distress you, and I know Glengall wouldn't for the world. I only told you because I thought you ought to know. He has no hope at all himself—and would never ask you, I am sure. Only he is so good. I should know a little girl of mine was safe with him."
Pam still sobbed, with her face buried in the dusty papers.
"There, there, child!" said her father, "don't think about it any more. Poor Glengall! Of course, I know he's too old, and you are only a child; and he'd be the first to say the young should marry the young."
"I don't want to marry anyone," sobbed Pam. "Why can't I join a sisterhood and be at peace?"
Mr. Graydon passed his hand fondly over the rumpled curls.
"You'd hate it, Pam, that's what you would. You'd come back again in a week."