“I join her in that wish,” said Pamela.
“I know you do, bless you, and it would be black and ungrateful of me if I didn’t recognize that. My dear, you’ve been such a godsend, coming here to sit on the perch with the moping owl.”
“You mustn’t mope,” she said. “You’re an owl for moping, Colin.”
“I don’t mope except with you,” said he. “It’s shocking bad manners, I know, and yet it’s one of those involuntary compliments. Ooh, the relief of getting somebody who understands.”
His eyes left her face, dwelt hovering over her breast, and came back again.
“Help me, Pamela,” he said.
She leaned forward over the table. She loved this weakness and this appeal.
“Violet has used you abominably,” she said.
“No, no: you mustn’t say that,” he interrupted.
“But I must say that. I want to help you, my dear, and ah, how lovely it is that you ask me to try—and you must lay hold on that. She gets on wonderfully well without you, you told me. Let that rouse your pride. Don’t let your happiness suffer shipwreck over that. Heavens, if I found that anyone I was fond of got on wonderfully well without me, that would make me determined to get on just as well without him. I saw how charming and gentle you were with her at Stanier, and she gives you a stone——”