A sudden irrational anger kindled in the young man's eye, and his expression stiffened. "Oh, I see," he said. "This paragon had special privileges which no one else may hope to share." "He certainly had," said Pamela. "For no one else would endure them, poor dear!" "Now, what do you mean by that?" he said doubtfully. "Do you mean the privilege of being called by his name?" "No, but the privilege of my society and Sylvia's." "He must have been jolly hard to please." "He wasn't, then. He was as easily pleased as a child. I should like to have seen you in some of the situations in which Mick distinguished himself." "I daresay I'd be very undistinguished. I make no pretence of being a paragon." "It would be useless to, Sir Anthony." "I don't dispute it, Miss Pamela. I suppose we'd better be making for home?" He turned and walked sulkily along the forest path with the girl by his side. For a second there was silence; then Pamela broke it by saying softly: "I often have thought that one reason why Molly fell in love with Mick was because she pitied him so much. He came to the wall in all our escapades. Of course, he was always in love with Molly, but I believe it was in protecting him from us that she became so fond of him." "He is your sister's lover, then?" incredulously. "Why, _of course_ he is. Whose did you suppose he was?" "Yours, Miss Pamela." "Mine! why, he'd never look at me when Molly was by. Besides, you don't know how horribly we ill-used the poor dear fellow." "Miss Pam, I wish you'd ill-use me." "You wouldn't like it at all, Sir Anthony." "Yes, I should, Miss Pamela. So Mick is engaged to your sister. What an ass I have been!" "Yes, poor dears, they are engaged, without the remotest prospect of ever being married that I can see. Mick's a subaltern in a line regiment, with just his pay--he got in through the Militia--and Molly, needless to say, hasn't a penny." "He's a lucky fellow, all the same. And now, Miss Pamela, what have we been quarrelling about?" "I'm sure I don't know, Sir Anthony. Have we been quarrelling?" "_I_ have." "But I haven't. I did think you were a little cross about something. But here is the Wishing Well that I told you about." They had come on a little glade of the forest, in the midst of which was a brier heavy with blackberries. The bush hooded a little space, and, looking underneath, one saw, as in a cup, a still depth of water over pebbles of gold and silver. "You are to drink, Sir Anthony, without spilling a drop, and think on your wish at the same time." "Drink from what, Miss Pamela?" "Why, from your hands, of course." "I couldn't; the water would all run away." "No, it wouldn't. See how I manage it." The girl scooped the water into her rosy palms and drank it slowly. Then she looked at him, and again the wave of rose flowed in her cheek. "I never could manage it; I'm such a duffer at things. Miss Pamela, would you let me drink from your hands? _Do!_"