Pamela loved pretty things as well as any girl, and none the less because they had never been within her reach. But now her interest in such matters seemed feeble. The times when she derived a certain quiet happiness from her engagement were when she talked with Lord Glengall about what was to be done for the others.
"Is there nothing for yourself, Pam?" he asked once; "you never ask for anything for yourself."
And then he stroked the soft pale cheek with a loving finger, and the concern in his eyes grew deeper.
Once he said to Pamela that he wished it were all done, and that he was free to take care of her; but as he said it, putting a protecting arm about her, he felt a quick shudder run through her.
"What is it, Pam?" he asked anxiously.
"Someone walking on my grave," said Pamela lightly.
"Don't talk about such things, child," he implored. "You have all your life, the life that I am going to endeavour to make so happy, before you. What have you to do with graves?"
And yet another time he said to her that he could almost wish that he might give her his love and his care and his fortune without marriage.
"I suppose I couldn't adopt you, Pam?" he said lightly, yet his mood was a serious one.