Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 47

"But, last night," began Bowen and paused.

"Last night, I think," said Lady Tanagra, "was a master-stroke. She is touched; it's taken us forward at least a week."

"But look here, Tan," said Bowen gloomily, "you told me to leave it all in your hands and you make me treat her rottenly, then you say----"

"That you know about as much of how to make a woman like Patricia fall in love with you as an ostrich does of geology," said Lady Tanagra calmly.

"But what will she think?" demanded Bowen.

"At present she is thinking that Eastbourne will be a nightmare of loneliness."

"I'll run down and see her," announced Bowen.

"If you do, Peter!" There was a note of warning in Lady Tanagra's voice.

"All right," he conceded gloomily. "I'll give you another week, and then I'll go my own way."

"Peter, if you were smaller and I were bigger I think I should spank you," laughed Lady Tanagra. Then with great seriousness she said, "I want you to marry her, and I'm going the only way to work to make her let you. Do try and trust me, Peter."

Bowen looked down at her with a smile, touched by the look in her eyes.

For a moment his arm rested across her shoulders. Then he pushed her towards the door. "Clear out, Tan. I'm not fit for a bear-pit to-night."

The Bowens were never demonstrative with one another.

For half an hour Bowen sat smoking one cigarette after another until he was interrupted by the entrance of Peel, who, after a comprehensive glance round the room, proceeded to administer here and there those deft touches that emphasize a patient and orderly mind. Bowen watched him as he moved about on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet.

"Have you ever been to Eastbourne, Peel?" enquired Bowen presently.

Just why he asked the question he could not have said.

"Only once, my lord," replied Peel as he replaced the full ash-tray on the table by Bowen with a clean one. There was a note in his voice implying that nothing would ever tempt him to go there again.

"You don't like it?" suggested Bowen.

"I dislike it intensely, my lord," replied Peel as he refolded a copy of _The Times_.

"Why?"

"It has unpleasant a.s.sociations, my lord," was the reply.

Bowen smiled. After a moment's silence he continued:

"Been sowing wild oats there?"

"No, my lord, not exactly."

"Well, if it's not too private," said Bowen, "tell me what happened.

At the moment I'm particularly interested in the place."

Peel gazed reproachfully at a copy of _The Sphere_, which had managed in some strange way to get its leaves dog-eared. As he proceeded to smooth them out he continued:

"It was when I was young, my lord. I was engaged to be married. I thought her a most excellent young woman, in every way suitable. She went down to Eastbourne for a holiday." He paused.

"Well, there doesn't seem much wrong in that," said Bowen.

"From Eastbourne she wrote, saying that she had changed her mind,"

proceeded Peel.

"The devil she did!" exclaimed Bowen. "And what did you do?"

"I went down to reason with her, my lord," said Peel.

"Does one reason with a woman, Peel?" enquired Bowen with a smile.

"I was very young then, my lord, not more than thirty-two." Peel's tone was apologetic. "I discovered that she had received an offer of marriage from another."

"Hard luck!" murmured Bowen.

"Not at all, my lord, really," said Peel philosophically. "I discovered that she had re-engaged herself to a butcher, a most offensive fellow. His language when I expostulated with him was incredibly coa.r.s.e, and I am sure he used marrow for his hair."

"And what did you do?" enquired Bowen.

"I had taken a return ticket, my lord. I came back to London."

Bowen laughed. "I'm afraid you couldn't have been very badly hit, Peel, or you would not have been able to take it quite so philosophically."

"I have never allowed my private affairs to interfere with my professional duties, my lord," replied Peel unctuously.

For five minutes Bowen smoked in silence. "So you do not believe in marriage," he said at length.

"I would not say that, my lord; but I do not think it suitable for a man of temperament such as myself. I have known marriages quite successful where too much was not required of the contracting parties."

"But don't you believe in love?" enquired Bowen.

"Love, my lord, is like a disease. If you are on the look out for it you catch it, if you ignore it, it does not trouble you. I was once with a gentleman who was very nervous about microbes. He would never eat anything that had not been cooked, and he had everything about him disinfected. He even disinfected me," he added as if in proof of the extreme eccentricity of his late employer.

"So I suppose you despise me for having fallen in love and contemplating marriage," said Bowen with a smile.

"There are always exceptions, my lord," responded Peel tactfully. "I have prepared the bath."

"Peel," remarked Bowen as he rose and stretched himself, "disinfected or not disinfected, you are safe from the microbe of romance."

"I hope so, my lord," responded Peel as he opened the door.

"I wonder if history will repeat itself," murmured Bowen as he walked through his bedroom into the bathroom. "I, too, hate Eastbourne."