"Yes, that was jolly bad luck. We should all three have had a jolly good time together."
Pamela laughed again. "Perhaps I should have had somebody of my own," she said. "I'm old enough now, you know, Norman."
"Of course you are. You're just the same age as Margaret, as a matter of fact. You'd have had 'em swarming. But there are precious few of them I should think good enough for you. I say, old girl, what about Jim Horsham?"
"Well, what about him?"
"I don't think he's good enough, you know, though he is a Viscount."
"I like Jim. I've known him all my life."
"He's a good chap, but he's a desperate dull dog. Don't go falling in love with Jim, Pam."
"I'm not likely to fall in love with him."
"It occurred to me this afternoon that he showed some slight inclination to fall in love with you. There was a sort of concentrated heaviness on him whenever he was with you. I suppose he'd sparkle if he could, under emotion, but as he can't, he's got to be duller than usual. Perhaps there's nothing in it. But I shouldn't blame him if he did fall in love with you. In fact, I should think it rather cheek, in a way, if he didn't. He's not likely to meet anybody more worth falling in love with. But it isn't good enough, Pam."
"Well, I shouldn't worry about it, if I were you. Jim isn't my ideal, though he's a nice old thing, and I think you're too superior about him altogether. Did you know Fred Comfrey had come home?"