Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 34

"Now you must sit quiet and be good," admonished Patricia. "I'm busy with beetles."

"Busy with what?" demanded Mr. Triggs arresting the process of fanning himself with his handkerchief.

"The potato-beetle," explained Patricia. "There is no lack of variety in the life of an M.P.'s secretary: babies and beetles, pigs and potatoes, meat and margarine, they all have their allotted place."

"Arthur works you too 'ard, me dear, I'm afraid," said Mr. Triggs. "I must speak to 'im about it."

"Oh, Mr. Triggs! You mustn't do anything of the sort. He's most kind and considerate, and if I am here I must do what he wants."

"But beetles and babies and potatoes, me dear," said Mr. Triggs.

"That's more than a joke."

"Oh! you don't know what a joke a beetle can be," said Patricia, looking up and laughing in spite of herself at the expression of anxiety on Mr. Triggs's face.

Mr. Triggs mumbled something to himself.

"G.o.d bless my soul!" he exclaimed a moment after. "'Ere am I, forgetting what I come about. I've seen _The Morning Post_, me dear."

Patricia pushed back her chair from the table and turned and faced Mr.

Triggs.

"Mr. Triggs," she said, "if you mention the words _Morning Post_ to me again I think I shall kill you."

Mr. Triggs's hands dropped to his side as he gazed at her in blank astonishment. "But, me dear----" he began.

"The engagement has been broken off," announced Patricia.

Mr. Triggs's jaw dropped, and he gazed at Patricia in amazement.

"Broken off," he repeated. "Engagement broken off. Why, d.a.m.n 'im, I'll punch 'is 'ead," and he made an effort to rise.

Patricia laughed, a little hysterically.

"You mustn't blame Lord Peter," she said. "It is I who have broken it off."

Mr. Triggs collapsed into the chair again. "You broke it off," he exclaimed. "You broke off the engagement with a nice young chap like 'im?"

Patricia nodded.

"Well, I'm blowed!" Mr. Triggs sat staring at Patricia as if she had suddenly become transformed into a dodo. After nearly a minute's contemplation of Patricia, a smile slowly spread itself over his features, like the sun breaking through a heavy cloud-laden sky.

"You been 'avin' a quarrel, that's what's the matter," he announced with a profound air of wisdom.

Patricia shook her head with an air of finality; but Mr. Triggs continued to nod his head wisely.

"That's what's the matter," he muttered. "Why," he added, "you'll never get another young chap like 'im. Took a great fancy to 'im, I did. Now all you've got to do is just to kiss and make it up. Then you'll feel 'appier than ever afterwards."

Patricia realised the impossibility of conveying to Mr. Triggs that her decision was irrevocable. Furthermore she was anxious that he should go, as she had promised to get out certain statistics for Mr. Bonsor.

"Now you really must go, Mr. Triggs. You won't think me horrid, will you, but I had a half-holiday the other day, and now I must work and make up for it. That's only fair, isn't it?"

"Very well, me dear, I can't stay. I'll be off and get out of your way. Now don't forget. Make it up, kiss and be friends. That's my motto."

"It isn't a quarrel, Mr. Triggs; but it's no use trying to explain to anyone so sweet and nice as you. Anyhow, I have broken off the engagement, and Lord Peter is in no way to blame."

"Well, good-bye, me dear. I'll see you again soon," said Mr. Triggs, still nodding his head with genial conviction as to the rightness of his diagnosis. "And now I'll be trottin'. Don't forget," and with a final look over his shoulder and another nod of wisdom he floated out of the room, seeming to leave it cold and bare behind him.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he walked away from Eaton Square.

Arrived at the corner of Eaton Place, he stood still as if uncertain what direction to take. Seeing a crawling taxi he suddenly seemed inspired with an idea.

"Hi! Hi! Taxi!" he shouted, waving his umbrella. Having secured the taxi and given the man instructions to drive to the Quadrant, he hauled himself in and sat down with a sigh of satisfaction.

It was a few minutes to one as he asked for Lord Peter Bowen at the enquiry-office of the Quadrant. Two minutes later Peel descended in the lift to inform him that his Lordship had not yet returned to lunch.

Was Mr. Triggs expected?

"Well, no," confessed Mr. Triggs, looking at Peel a little uncertainly.

"'E wasn't expecting me; but 'e asked me the other night if I'd call in when I was pa.s.sing, and as I was pa.s.sing I called in, see?"

For a moment Peel seemed to hesitate.

"His Lordship has a luncheon engagement, sir," he said; "but he could no doubt see you for two or three minutes if he asked you to call.

Perhaps you will step this way."

Before Mr. Triggs had a chance of doing as was suggested, Peel had turned aside.

"No, my lady, his Lordship is not in yet; but he will not be more than a minute or two. This gentleman," he looked at the card, "Mr. Triggs, is----"

"Oh, Mr. Triggs, how do you do?" cried Lady Tanagra, extending her hand.

Mr. Triggs looked at the exquisite little vision before him in surprise and admiration. He took the proffered hand as if it had been a piece of priceless porcelain.

"I'm Lord Peter's sister, you know. I've heard all about you from Patricia. Do come up and let us have a chat before my brother comes."

Mr. Triggs followed Lady Tanagra into the lift, too surprised and bewildered to make any response to her greeting. As the lift slid upwards he mopped his brow vigorously with his handkerchief.

When they were seated in Bowen's sitting-room he at last found voice.

"I just been to see 'er," he said.

"Who, Patricia?" asked Lady Tanagra.

Mr. Triggs nodded, and there was a look in his eyes which implied that he was not at all satisfied with what he had seen.

"Quarrelled, 'aven't they?"' he asked.

"Well," began Lady Tanagra, not quite knowing how much Mr. Triggs actually knew of the circ.u.mstances of the case.

"Said she'd broken it off. I gave her a talking to, I did. She'll never get another young chap like 'im."