“I’m glad. I mustn’t lose hold on joy,” said he quickly. “But what atrocious manners I’ve got! There’s nothing so thoroughly rude and middle-class as to tell your friends of your troubles.” “There’s no greater compliment that you can pay, than to do just that,” she said. “But I should never have guessed, Colin, you’re a wonderful dissembler.” He laughed. “I’m a wonderful grouser,” he said. “Grouse too, Pamela. Be sociable: tell me the secret sorrows of your domestic life.” “You know quite well I haven’t any. My husband and I are the greatest friends. Whenever we meet, which is about once a year, we have the most delightful talk, and always hope we shall meet again soon. In the intervals we hear of each other occasionally. I hear about his little affairs, and I suppose he would about mine if I had any. But I can’t behave as so many women seem to.” Colin gave a little shudder. “I should hate you if you did,” he said. “Don’t make me do that.” That certainly was not part of Pamela’s plan. “I promise that you shan’t for that reason,” she said. “But we won’t talk about me.... Oh, Colin, I hate your being unhappy. What can be done, my dear? You’ve got so much, too: you’ve got so many people who are devoted to you.” He looked at her with eyes brilliant and wistful. “Have I?” he said. “I don’t feel as if I had. People are friendly, I know, but I am only one in a crowd to them. They come down here in shoals in the autumn--next time you come, you shall really have some more amusing people to meet.” She interrupted him. “No, don’t do that,” she said. “The shoals of amusing people aren’t anything to me.” “Ah, that’s nice of you,” said Colin. They stood there a moment in silence: then he turned quickly to the house. “We must go in,” he said. “Granny will have finished her whist, and then my uncle likes a chat in the smoking-room. You never knew I was such a domestic character, did you, Pamela?” “I always knew you were a dear,” she said. “And you do like me a little, don’t you?” * * * * *