"Sylvia! I can't go down."
"Yes, you can. You shall, even if I have to use force."
"Very well, Sylvia," said Pam, rising and trembling a little.
"Come, don't think about it. Do it quickly, as we used to take our cod-liver oil long ago. Let us run down the stairs. There, you poor little thing! your hands are cold. The run will warm them."
And, half-resisting, Pamela was pulled by force down the stairs.
Nevertheless, she entered the room with her head high.
"How do you do, Sir Anthony?" she began.
"Ah, Pam darling!" cried the young man, coming to meet her. "Don't give me any more cold words or cold looks. I haven't deserved them, and if you've nothing else for me I shall go away for ever."
"No, surely," said Pam, and her sweet voice had a little surprise in it. "You didn't really deserve any blame at all."
"But you did, for I asked you to trust me, Pam. I asked you to trust me, and your faith was brittle."