Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 14

"Good-bye."

"Au revoir."

Patricia put the receiver up with a jerk.

She returned to her room conscious that she was never able to do herself justice with Bowen. Her most righteous anger was always in danger of being dissipated when she spoke to him. His personality seemed to radiate good nature, and he always appeared so genuinely glad to see her, or hear her voice that it placed her at a disadvantage.

She ought to be stronger and more tenacious of purpose, she told herself. It was weak to be so easily influenced by someone else, especially a man who had treated her in the way that Bowen had treated her; for Patricia had now come to regard herself as extremely ill-used.

Nothing, she told herself, would have persuaded her to ring up Bowen in the way she had done, had it not been for Aunt Adelaide. In her heart she had to confess that she was very much afraid of Aunt Adelaide and what she might do.

Patricia dreaded dinner that evening. She knew instinctively that everybody would be full of Miss w.a.n.gle's discovery. She might have known that Miss w.a.n.gle would not be satisfied until she had discovered everything there was to be discovered about Bowen.

As Patricia walked along the hall to the staircase, Mrs. Hamilton came out of the lounge. Patricia put her arm round the fragile waist of the old lady and they walked upstairs together.

"Well," said Patricia gaily, "what are the old tabbies doing this afternoon?"

"My dear!" expostulated Mrs. Hamilton gently, "you mustn't call them that, they have so very little to interest them that--that----"

"Oh, you dear, funny little thing!" said Patricia, giving Mrs. Hamilton a squeeze which almost lifted her off her feet. "I think you would find an excuse for anyone, no matter how wicked. When I get very, very bad I shall come and ask you to explain me to myself. I think if you had your way you would prove every wolf a sheep underneath. Come into my room and have a pow-wow."

Inside her room Patricia lifted Mrs. Hamilton bodily on to the bed.

"Now lie there, you dear little thing, and have a rest. Dad used to say that every woman ought to lie on her back for two hours each day.

I don't know why. I suppose it was to keep her quiet and get her out of the way. In any case you have got to lie down there."

"But your bed, my dear," protested Mrs. Hamilton.

"Never mind my bed, you just do as you're told. Now what are the old cats--I beg your pardon, what have the--lambs been saying?"

Mrs. Hamilton smiled in spite of herself. "Well, of course, dear, we're all very interested to hear that you are engaged to--Lord Peter Bowen."

"How did they find out?" interrupted Patricia.

"Well, it appears that Miss w.a.n.gle has a friend who has a cousin in the War Office."

"Oh, dear!" groaned Patricia. "I believe Miss w.a.n.gle has a friend who has a cousin in every known place in the world, and a good many unknown places," she added. "She has got a bishop in heaven, innumerable connections in Mayfair, acquaintances at Court, cousins of friends at the War Office; the only place where she seems to have n.o.body who has anybody else is h.e.l.l."

"My dear!" said Mrs. Hamilton in horror, "you mustn't talk like that."

"But isn't it true?" persisted Patricia. "Well, I'm sorry if I've shocked you. Tell me all about it."

"Well," began Mrs. Hamilton, "soon after you had gone out Miss w.a.n.gle's friend telephoned in reply to her letter of enquiry. She told her all about Lord Peter Bowen, how he had distinguished himself in France, won the Military Cross, the D.S.O., how he had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and brought back to the War Office and given a position on the General Staff. He's a very clever young man, my dear."

Patricia laughed outright at Mrs. Hamilton's earnestness. "Why of course he's clever, otherwise he wouldn't have taken up with such a clever young woman."

"Well, my dear, I hope you'll be happy," said Mrs. Hamilton earnestly.

"I doubt it," said Patricia.

"Doubt it!" There was horror in Mrs. Hamilton's voice. She half raised herself on the bed. Patricia pushed her back again.

"Never mind, your remark reminds me of a story about a great-great-grandmother of mine. A granddaughter of hers had become engaged and there was a great family meeting to introduce the poor victim to his future "in-laws." The old lady was very deaf and had formed the habit of speaking aloud quite unconscious that others could hear her. The wretched young man was brought up and presented, and everybody was agog to hear the grandmotherly p.r.o.nouncement, for the old lady was as shrewd as she was frank. She looked at the young man keenly and deliberately, whilst he stood the picture of discomfort, and turning to her granddaughter, said, "Well, my dear, I hope you'll be happy, I hope you'll be very happy," then to herself in an equally loud voice she added, "But he wouldn't have been my choice, he wouldn't have been my choice."

"Oh! the poor dear," said Mrs. Hamilton, seeing only the tragic side of the situation.

Patricia laughed. "How like you, you dear little grey lady," and she bent down and kissed the pale cheeks, bringing a slight rose flush to them.

It was half-past seven before Mrs. Hamilton left Patricia's room.

"Heigh-ho!" sighed Patricia as she undid her hair, "I suppose I shall have to run the gauntlet during dinner."

CHAPTER VII

LORD PETER PROMISES A SOLUTION

Sunday supper at Galvin House was a cold meal timed for eight o'clock; but allowed to remain upon the table until half-past nine for the convenience of church-goers.

Patricia had dawdled over her toilette, realising, however, to admit that she dreaded the ordeal before her in the dining-room. When at last she could find no excuse for remaining longer in her room, she descended the stairs slowly, conscious of a strange feeling of hesitancy about her knees.

Outside the dining-room door she paused. Her instinct was to bolt; but the pad-pad of Gustave's approaching footsteps cutting off her retreat decided her. As she entered the dining-room the hum of excited conversation ceased abruptly and, amidst a dead silence, Patricia walked to her seat conscious of a heightened colour and a hatred of her own species.

Looking round the table, and seeing how acutely self-conscious everyone seemed, her self-possession returned. She noticed a new deference in Gustave's manner as he placed before her a plate of cold shoulder of mutton and held the salad-bowl at her side. Having helped herself Patricia turned to Miss w.a.n.gle, and for a moment regarded her with an enigmatical smile that made her fidget.

"How clever of you, Miss w.a.n.gle," she said sweetly. "In future no one will ever dare to have a secret at Galvin House."

Miss w.a.n.gle reddened. Mr. Bolton's laugh rang out.

"Miss w.a.n.gle, Private Enquiry Agent," he cried, "I----"

"Really, Mr. Bolton!" protested Mrs. Craske-Morton, looking anxiously at Miss w.a.n.gle's indrawn lips and angry eyes.

Mr. Bolton subsided.

"We're so excited, dear Miss Brent," simpered Miss Sikk.u.m. "You'll be Lady Bowen----"

"Lady Peter Bowen," corrected Mrs. Craske-Morton with superior knowledge.

"Lady Peter," gushed Miss Sikk.u.m. "Oh how romantic, and I shall see your portrait in _The Mirror_. Oh! Miss Brent, aren't you happy?"

Patricia smiled across at Miss Sikk.u.m, whose enthusiasm was too genuine to cause offence.

"And you'll have cars and all sorts of things," remarked Mrs.

Mosscrop-Smythe, thinking of he solitary blue evening frock, "he's very rich."

"Worth ten thousand a year," almost shouted Mr. Cordal, striving to regain control over a piece of lettuce-leaf that fluttered from his lips, and having eventually to use his fingers.

"You'll forget all about us," said Miss Pilkington, who in her capacity as a post-office supervisor daily showed her contempt for the public whose servant she was.