Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 10

"Who's Miss Sikk.u.m?"

"Time, in all probability, will show," replied Patricia, seating herself on a settee. Bowen drew up a chair and sat opposite to her.

She liked him for that. Had he sat beside her, she told herself, she would have hated him.

"You're not angry with me, Patricia, are you?" There was an anxious note in his voice.

"Do you appreciate that you've made me extremely ridiculous with your telegrams, messenger-boys, conservatories, and confectioner's-shops?

Why did you do it?"

"I don't know," he confessed with unconscious gaucherie, "I simply couldn't get you out of my thoughts."

"Which shows that you tried," commented Patricia, the lightness of her words contradicted by the blush that accompanied them.

"The King's Regulations do not provide for Patricias," he replied, "and I had to try. That is how I knew."

"Do you think I'm a cormorant, as well as an abandoned person?" she demanded.

"A cormorant?" queried Bowen, ignoring the second question. "I don't understand."

"Within twenty-four hours you have sent me enough chocolates to last for a couple of months."

"Poor Patricia!" he laughed.

"You mustn't call me Patricia, Colonel Bowen," she said primly. "What will people think?"

"What would they think if they heard the man you're engaged to call you Miss Brent?"

"We are not engaged," said Patricia hotly.

"We are," his eyes smiled into hers. "I can bring all these people here to prove it on your own statement."

She bit her Up. "Are you going to be mean? Are you going to play the game?" She awaited his reply with an anxiety she strove to disguise.

Bowen looked straight into her eyes until they fell beneath his gaze.

"I'm afraid I've got to be mean, Patricia," he said quietly. "May we smoke?"

As she took a cigarette from his case and he lighted it for her, Patricia found herself experiencing a new sensation. Without apparent effort he had a.s.sumed control of the situation, and then with a masterfulness that she felt rather than acknowledged, had put the subject aside as if requiring no further comment. This was a side of Bowen's character that she had not yet seen. As she was debating with herself whether or no she liked it, the door opened, giving access to a stream of Galvin Houseites.

"Oh!" gasped Patricia hysterically, "they're all dressed up, and it's in your honour."

"What's that?" enquired Bowen, less mentally agile than Patricia, as he turned round to gaze at the string of paying guests that oozed into the room.

"They've put on their best bibs and tuckers for you," she cried. "Oh!

please don't even smile, _ple-e-e-ase_!"

The first to enter was Miss w.a.n.gle. Although she had not changed her dress, it was obvious that she had taken considerable pains with her personal appearance. On her fingers were more than the usual weight of rings; round her neck were flung a few additional chains; on her arms hung an extra bracelet or two and, as a final touch, she had added a fan to her equipment. To Patricia's keen eyes it was clear that she had re-done her hair, and she carried her lorgnettes, things that in themselves betokened a ceremonial occasion.

Following Miss w.a.n.gle like an echo came Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe. She had evidently taken her courage in both hands and donned the blue evening frock, to which she had added a pair of white gloves which reached barely to the elbow, although the frock ended just below her shoulders.

Miss w.a.n.gle bowed graciously to Patricia, Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe followed suit. They moved over to the extreme end of the room. Mr. Cordal was the next arrival, closely followed by Mr. Bolton. At the sight of Mr.

Cordal Patricia started and bit her lower lip. He had a.s.sumed a vivid blue tie, and had obviously changed his collar. From the darker spots on his waistcoat and coat it was evident that he had subjected his clothes to a vigorous process of cleaning.

Mr. Bolton, on the other hand, had followed Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe's lead, and made a clean sweep. He had a.s.sumed a black frock-coat; but had apparently not thought it worth while to change his brown tweed trousers, which hung about his boots in shapeless folds, as if conscious that they had no right there. He, too, had donned a clean collar and, by way of adding to his splendour, had a.s.sumed a white satin necktie threaded through a "diamond" ring. His thin dark hair was generously oiled and, as he pa.s.sed over to the side of the room occupied by Miss w.a.n.gle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, he left behind him a strong odour of verbena.

Mrs. Barnes came next and, one by one, the other guests drifted in.

All had a.s.sumed something in the nature of a wedding garment in honour of Patricia's fiance. Miss Sikk.u.m had selected a pea-green satin blouse, which caused Bowen to screw his eyegla.s.s vigorously into his eye and gaze at her in wonder.

"Do you like them?" It was Patricia who broke the silence.

With a start Bowen turned to her. "Er--er--they seem an er--awfully decent crowd."

Patricia laughed. "Yes, aren't they? Dreadfully decent. How would you like to live among them all? Why they haven't the pluck to break a commandment among them."

Bowen looked at Patricia in surprise. "Really!" was the only remark he could think of.

"And now I've shocked you!" cried Patricia. "You must not think that I like people who break commandments. I don't know exactly what I do mean. Oh, here you are!" and she ran across as Mrs. Hamilton entered and drew her towards Bowen. "Now I know what I meant. This dear little creature has never broken a commandment, I wouldn't mind betting everything I have, and she has never been uncharitable to anyone who has. Isn't that so?" She turned to Mrs. Hamilton, who was regarding her in astonishment. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm quite mad to-night, you mustn't mind. You see Colonel Bowen's mad and he makes me mad."

Turning to Bowen she introduced him to Mrs. Hamilton. "This is my friend, Mrs. Hamilton." Then to Mrs. Hamilton. "You know all about Colonel Bowen, don't you, dear? He's the man who sends me conservatories and telegrams and boy-messengers and things."

Mrs. Hamilton smiled up sweetly at Bowen, and held out her hand.

Patricia glanced across at the group at the other end of the lounge.

The scene reminded her of Napoleon on the _Bellerophon_.

Suddenly she had an idea. It synchronised with the entry of Gustave, who stood just inside the door smiling inanely.

"Call a taxi for Colonel Bowen, please, Gustave," she said coolly.

Gustave looked surprised, the group looked disappointed, Bowen looked at Patricia with a puzzled expression.

"I'm sorry you're in a hurry," said Patricia, holding out her hand to Bowen. "I'm busy also."

"But----" began Bowen.

"Oh! don't trouble." Patricia advanced, and he had perforce to retreat towards the door. "See you again sometime. Good-bye," and Bowen found himself in the hall.

"d.a.m.n!" he muttered.

"Sir?" interrogated Gustave anxiously.

As Bowen was replying to Gustave in coin, Mrs. Craske-Morton appeared at the head of the stairs on her way down to the lounge after her tactful absence. For a moment she hesitated in obvious surprise, then, with the air of a would-be traveller who hears the guard's whistle, she threw dignity aside and made for Bowen.

"Colonel Bowen?" she interrogated anxiously.

Bowen turned and bowed.

"I am Mrs. Craske-Morton. Miss Brent did not tell me that you were making so short a call, or I would----" Mrs. Craske-Morton's pause implied that nothing would have prevented her from hurrying down.