Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 15

"If you're nice to her," said Mr. Bolton, "she may buy her stamps at your place."

Again Mrs. Craske-Morton's "Really, Mr. Bolton!" eased the situation.

Patricia was for the most part silent. She was thinking of the coming talk with Bowen. In spite of herself she was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. Miss w.a.n.gle also said little. From time to time she glanced in Patricia's direction.

"The w.a.n.gle's off her feed," whispered Mr. Bolton to Miss Sikk.u.m, producing from her a giggle and an "Oh! Mr. Bolton, you _are_ dreadful."

Mrs. Barnes was worrying as to whether a lord should be addressed as "my lord" or "sir," and if you curtsied to him, and if so how you did it with rheumatism in the knee.

Patricia noticed with amus.e.m.e.nt the new deference with which everyone treated her. Mrs. Craske-Morton, in particular, was most solicitous that she should make a good meal. Miss w.a.n.gle's silence was in itself a tribute. Patricia nervously waited the moment when Bowen's presence should be announced.

When the time came Gustave rose to the occasion magnificently.

Throwing open the dining-room door impressively and speaking with great distinctness he cried:

"Ees Lordship is 'ere, mees," and then after a moment's pause he added, "'E 'as brought 'is car, mees. It is at the door."

Patricia smiled in spite of herself at Gustave's earnestness.

"Very well, Gustave, say I will not be a moment," she replied and, with a muttered apology to Mrs. Craske-Morton, she left the table and the dining-room, conscious of the dramatic tension of the situation.

Patricia ran down the pa.s.sage leading to the lounge, then, suddenly remembering that haste and happiness were not in keeping with anger and reproach, entered the lounge with a sedateness that even Aunt Adelaide could not have found lacking in maidenly decorum.

Bowen came across from the window and took both her hands.

"Why was she allowing him to do this?" she asked herself. "Why did she not reproach him, why did she thrill at his touch, why----?"

She withdrew her hands sharply, looked up at him and then for no reason at all laughed.

How absurd it all was. It was easy to be angry with him when he was at the Quadrant and she at Galvin House; but with him before her, looking down at her with eyes that were smilingly confident and gravely deferential by turn, she found her anger and good resolutions disappear.

"I know you are going to bully me, Patricia." Bowen's eyes smiled; but there was in his voice a note of enquiry.

"Oh! please let us escape before the others come in sight," said Patricia, looking over her shoulder anxiously. "They'll all be out in a moment. I left them straining at their leashes and swallowing scalding coffee so as to get a glimpse of a real, live lord at close quarters."

As she spoke Patricia stabbed on a toque.

"Shall I want anything warmer than this?" she enquired as Bowen helped her into a long fur-trimmed coat.

"I brought a big fur coat for you in case it gets cold," he replied, and he held open the door for her to pa.s.s.

"Quick," she whispered, "they're coming."

As she ran down the steps she nodded brightly to Gustave, who stood almost bowed down with the burden of his respect for an English lord.

As Bowen swung the car round, Patricia was conscious that at the drawing-room and lounge windows Galvin House was heavily ma.s.sed.

Unable to find a s.p.a.ce, Miss Sikk.u.m and Mr. Bolton had come out on to the doorstep and, as the car jerked forward, Miss Sikk.u.m waved her pocket handkerchief.

Patricia shuddered.

For some time they were silent. Patricia was content to enjoy the unaccustomed sense of swift movement coupled with the feeling of the luxury of a Rolls Royce. From time to time Bowen glanced at her and smiled, and she was conscious of returning the smile, although in the light of what she intended to say she felt that smiles were not appropriate.

The car sped along the Bayswater Road, threaded its way through Hammersmith Broadway and pa.s.sed over the bridge, across Barnes Common into Priory Lane, and finally into Richmond Park. Bowen had not mentioned where he intended to take her, and Patricia was glad. She was essentially feminine, and liked having things decided for her, the more so as she invariably had to decide for herself.

Half-way across the Park Bowen turned in the direction of Kingston Gate and, a minute later, drew up just off the roadway. Having stopped the engine he turned to her.

"Now, Patricia," he said with a smile, "I am at your mercy. There is no one within hail."

Bowen's voice recalled her from dreamland. She was thinking how different everything might have been, but for that unfortunate unconvention. With an effort she came down to earth to find Bowen smiling into her eyes.

It was an effort for her to a.s.sume the indignation she had previously felt. Bowen's presence seemed to dissipate her anger. Why had she not written to him instead of endeavouring to express verbally what she knew she would fail to convey?

"Please don't be too hard on me, Patricia," pleaded Bowen.

Patricia looked at him. She wished he would not smile at her in that way and a.s.sume an air of penitence. It was so disarming. It was unfair. He was taking a mean advantage. He was always taking a mean advantage of her, always putting her in the wrong.

By keeping her face carefully averted from his, she was able to tinge her voice with indignation as she demanded:

"Why did you not tell me who you were?"

"But I did," he protested.

"You said that you were Colonel Bowen, and you are not." Patricia was pleased to find her sense of outraged indignation increasing. "You have made me ridiculous in the eyes of everyone at Galvin House."

"But," protested Bowen.

"It's no good saying 'but,'" replied Patricia unreasonably, "you know I'm right."

"But I told you my name was Bowen," he said, "and later I told you that my rank was that of a lieutenant-colonel, both of which are quite correct."

"You are Lord Peter Bowen, and you've made me ridiculous," then conscious of the absurdity of her words, Patricia laughed; but there was no mirth in her laughter.

"Made you ridiculous," said Bowen, concern in his voice. "But how?"

"Oh, I am not referring to your boy-messengers and telegrams, florists'

shops, confectioners' stocks," said Patricia, "but all the tabbies in Galvin House set themselves to work to find out who you were and--and--look what an absurd figure I cut! Then of course Aunt Adelaide must b.u.t.t in."

"Aunt Adelaide!" repeated Bowen, knitting his brows. "Tabbies at Galvin House!"

"If you repeat my words like that I shall scream," said Patricia. "I wish you would try and be intelligent. Miss w.a.n.gle told Aunt Adelaide that I'm engaged to Lord Peter Bowen. Aunt Adelaide then asked me about my engagement, and I had to make up some sort of story about Colonel Bowen. She then enquired if it were true that I was engaged to Lord Peter Bowen. Of course I said 'No,' and that is where we are at present, and you've got to help me out. You got me into the mess."

"Might I enquire who Aunt Adelaide is, please, Patricia?"

Bowen's humility made him very difficult to talk to.

"Aunt Adelaide is my sole surviving relative, vide her own statement,"

said Patricia. "If I had my way she would be neither surviving nor a relative; but as it happens she is both, and to-morrow afternoon at half-past five she is coming to Galvin House to receive a full explanation of my conduct."

Bowen compressed his lips and wrinkled his forehead; but there was laughter in his eyes.