“Ah, that’s right,” he said, more to himself than her. * * * * * Though he laughed at himself for doing so, he often listened to the sound of the breeze, as if to a wordless and friendly counsellor. “What a delightful evening you’re giving me, Pamela,” he said. “You wean me from myself with your splendour and your gaiety. I declare that since you came into my room before dinner I haven’t once thought of that letter I found waiting for me.” “From Violet?” she said. His eyebrows contracted as if with a twinge of pain. “Yes. Oh, no bad news. Excellent news: she’s getting on wonderfully well without me. Hopes I am enjoying myself very much----” “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----” “She gives me nothing,” said he, in a voice suddenly harsh and bitter. She put her hand on his as it lay on the table, and he felt her pulses leap at the contact. “I like to hear you say that,” she said. “Say it again and again till the truth of it stings you. Realize it, make it part of yourself instead of looking at it from outside and mourning over it. Oh, my dear, have some pride! You aren’t going to let all your power of love and of happiness pour itself away into the sand of a desert! You’ve got enough power of happiness to light up the midnight. Don’t waste it.” (“She’s going it rather well,” thought Colin, “and I’m not doing it badly.”) “I know you’re right,” he said. He raised his eyes to hers.