Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 12

"I should know better, if you would tell me," murmured Patricia with a patient sigh as she seated herself in the easiest of the uneasy chairs, and proceeded to pull off her gloves.

"Patricia, I refer to these stories about your being engaged."

"Yes, Aunt Adelaide?"

"Have you nothing to say?"

"Nothing in particular. People get engaged, you know. I suppose it is because they've got nothing else to do."

"Patricia, don't be frivolous."

"Frivolous! Me frivolous! Aunt Adelaide! If you were a secretary to a brainless politician, who is supposed to rise, but who won't rise, can't rise, and never will rise, from ten until five each day, for the magnificent salary of two and a half guineas a week, even you wouldn't be able to be frivolous."

"Patricia!" There was surprised disapproval in Miss Brent's voice.

"Are you mad?"

"No, Aunt Adelaide, just bored, just bored stiff." Patricia emphasised the word "stiff" in a way that brought Miss Brent into an even more upright position.

"Patricia, I wish you would change your idiom. Your flagrant vulgarity would have deeply pained your poor, dear father."

Patricia made no response; she simply looked as she felt, unutterably bored. She was incapable even of invention. Supposing she told her aunt the whole story, at least she would have the joy of seeing the look of horror that would overspread her features.

"Patricia," continued Miss Brent, "I repeat, what is this I hear about your being engaged?"

"Oh!" replied Patricia indifferently, "I suppose you've heard the truth; I've got engaged."

"Without telling me a word about it."

"Oh, well! those are nasty things, you know, that one doesn't advertise."

"Patricia!"

"Well, aunt, you say that all men are beasts, and if you a.s.sociate with beasts, you don't like the world to know about it."

"Patricia!" repeated Miss Brent.

"Aunt Adelaide!" cried Patricia, "you make me feel that I absolutely hate my name. I wish I'd been numbered. If you say 'Patricia' again I shall scream."

"Is it true that you are engaged to Lord Peter Bowen?"

"Good Lord, no." Patricia sat up in astonishment.

"Then that woman in the lounge is a liar."

There was uncompromising conviction in Miss Brent's tone.

Patricia leaned forward and smiled. "Aunt Adelaide, you are singularly discriminating to-day. She is a liar, and she also happens to be a cat."

Miss Brent appeared not to hear Patricia's remark. She was occupied with her own thoughts. She possessed a masculine habit of thinking before she spoke, and in consequence she was as devoid of impulse and spontaneity as a snail.

Patricia watched her aunt covertly, her mind working furiously. What could it mean? Lord Peter Bowen! Miss w.a.n.gle was not given to making mistakes in which the aristocracy were concerned. At Galvin House she was the recognised authority upon anything and everything concerned with royalty and the t.i.tled and landed gentry. County families were her hobbies and the peerage her obsession. It would be just like Peter, thought Patricia, to turn out a lord, just the ridiculous, inconsequent sort of thing he would delight in. She was unconscious of any incongruity in thinking of him as Peter. It seemed the natural thing to do.

She saw by the signs on her aunt's face that she was nearing a decision. Conscious that she must not burn her boats, Patricia burst in upon Miss Brent's thoughts with a suddenness that startled her.

"If Miss w.a.n.gle desires to discuss my friends with you in future, Aunt Adelaide, I think she should adopt the names by which they prefer to be known."

Patricia watched the surprised look upon her aunt's face, and with dignity met the keen hawk-like glance that flashed from her eyes.

"If, for reasons of his own," continued Patricia, "a man chooses to drop his t.i.tle in favour of his rank in the army, that I think is a matter for him to decide, and not one that requires discussion at Miss w.a.n.gle's hands."

Miss Brent's stare convinced Patricia that she was carrying things off rather well.

"Patricia, where did you meet this Colonel Peter Bowen?"

The question came like a thunder-clap to Patricia's unprepared ears.

All her self-complacency of a moment before now deserted her.

She felt her face crimsoning. How she envied girls who did not blush.

What on earth could she tell her aunt? Why had an undiscriminating Providence given her an Aunt Adelaide at all? Why had it not bestowed this inestimable treasure upon someone more deserving? What could she say? As well think of lying to Rhadamanthus as to Miss Brent. Then Patricia had an inspiration. She would tell her aunt the truth, trusting to her not to believe it.

"Where did I meet him, Aunt Adelaide?" she remarked indifferently.

"Oh! I picked him up in a restaurant; he looked nice."

"Patricia, how dare you say such a thing before me." A slight flush mantled Miss Brent's sallow cheeks. All the proprieties, all the chast.i.ties and all the moralities banked up behind her in moral support.

"You ought to feel ashamed of yourself, Patricia. London has done you no good. What would your poor dear father have said?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Adelaide; but please remember I've had a very tiring week, trying to leaven an unleavenable politician. Shall we drop the subject of Colonel Bowen for the time being?"

"Certainly not," snapped Miss Brent. "It is my duty as your sole surviving relative," how Patricia deplored that word "surviving," why had her Aunt Adelaide survived? "As your sole surviving relative,"

repeated Miss Brent, "it is my duty to look after your welfare."

"But," protested Patricia, "I'm nearly twenty-five, and I am quite able to look after myself."

"Patricia, it is my duty to look after you." Miss Brent spoke as if she were about to walk over heated ploughshares rather than to satisfy a natural curiosity.

"I repeat," proceeded Miss Brent, "where did you meet Colonel Bowen?"

"I have told you, Aunt Adelaide, but you won't believe me."

"I want to know the truth, Patricia. Is he really Lord Peter?"

persisted Miss Brent.

"To be quite candid, I've never asked him," replied Patricia.

Miss Brent stared at her niece. The obviously feminine thing was to express surprise; but Miss Brent never did the obvious thing. Instead of repeating, "Never asked him!" she remained silent for some moments while Patricia, with great intentness, proceeded to jerk her gloves into shape.

"Patricia, you are mad!" Miss Brent spoke with conviction.