And there was a third, still more poignant, of a future in which Elizabeth would be always there, the centre of the picture, mistress of the house, the clever and charming woman, beside whom girls in their teens had no chance.
She was startled out of these reflections by a remark from Desmond.
'You know, Pam, you ought to get married soon.' The boy spoke shyly--but gravely and decidedly.

Pam thought with a sudden anguish--'He would never have said that, unless--' She laid her head on his shoulder, clinging to him.
'I shan't get married, old boy.' 'Oh, that's nonsense! Look here, Pam--you mustn't mind my poking my nose into things where I've no business.

You see, it's because--Well, I've sometimes thought--punch my head, if you like!--that you had a fancy for Arthur Chicksands.' Pamela laughed.
'Well, as he hasn't got any fancy for me, you needn't take that into your dear old head!' 'Why, he was always very fond of you, Pam.' 'Oh, yes, he liked ragging me when I was a child.

I'm not good enough for him now.' 'What do you mean--not good enough ?' 'Not clever enough, you silly old boy.

He'll marry somebody much older than me.' Desmond ruminated.
'He seemed to be getting on with Broomie this afternoon ?' 'Magnificently.