 Chapter 12 of Patricia Brent, Spinster. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. Patricia Brent, Spinster, by Herbert Jenkins. Chapter 12, A Bombshell. Good morning, Miss Brent. Patricia was surprised at the graciousness of Mrs. Sponster's salutation, particularly after the episode of the zoo on the previous afternoon. Good morning, she responded, and made to go upstairs to take off her hat and coat. I congratulate you, proceeded Mrs. Sponster in honeyed tones. But I'm just a little hurt that you did not confide in me. Mrs. Sponster's tone was that of a frustrated friend of many years standing. Confide, repeated Patricia, in a matter-of-effect tone. Confide what, Mrs. Sponster? Your engagement to Lord Peter Bowen. Such a surprise. You are a very lucky girl. I hope you'll bring Lord Peter to call. Patricia listened mechanically to Mrs. Sponster's inanities. Suddenly she realized their import. What had happened? How did she know? Had Mr. Triggs told her? How did you know? Patricia inquired. Haven't you seen the morning post? inquired Mrs. Sponster. A morning post, repeated Patricia, in consternation. But I don't understand. Then it isn't true, inquired Mrs. Sponster, sending a mystery. I began Patricia, then with inspiration, at it. I must be getting on. I've got a lot to do to make up for yesterday. But isn't it true, Miss Brent? persisted Mrs. Sponster. Then, from half-way up the stairs, Patricia turned, and, in a spur of mischief, cried, If you see it in the morning post, it is so, Mrs. Sponster. When Patricia entered the library, Mr. Sponster was fussing about with letters and papers, a habit he had when nervous. I'm so sorry about yesterday afternoon, Mr. Sponster, said Patricia. But Mrs. Sponster seemed to wish me to— Not at all, not at all, Miss Brent, said Mr. Sponster nervously. I—I— Then he paused. I know what you're going to say, Mr. Sponster, but please don't say it. Mr. Sponster looked at her in surprise. Not say it, he said. Oh, everybody's congratulating me, and I'm tired. Shall we get on with the letters? Mr. Sponster was disappointed. He had prepared a dainty little speech of congratulation, which he had intended to deliver, as Patricia entered the room. Mr. Sponster was always preparing speeches, which he never delivered. There was not an important matter that had been before the house, since he had represented Little Dolington, upon which he had not prepared a speech. He had criticized every member of the government in opposition. He had prepared party speeches and anti-party speeches, patriotic speeches, and speeches of protest. He had called upon the House of Commons to save the country, and upon the country to save the House of Commons. He had woven speeches of splendid optimism and speeches of gloomy foreboding. He had attacked ministers and defended ministers, seen himself attacked, and had routed his enemies. He had prepared speeches to be delivered to his servants for domestic misdemeanor, speeches from Mr. Triggs, even from Mrs. Sponster. He had conceived speeches on pigs, speeches on potatoes, speeches on oil cake, and speeches on officers' wives, in short, there was nothing in the world of his thoughts about which he had not prepared a speech. The one thing he did not do was to deliver these speeches. There were wonderful things of his imagination which seemed to defy crystallization into words. So it was with the speech of congratulation that he had prepared for Patricia. That morning Patricia was distraught. Her thoughts continued to wander to the morning post-announcement, and she was anxious to get out to lunch in order to purchase a copy and see what was actually said. Then her thoughts ran on to who was responsible for such an outrage, for Patricia regarded it as an outrage. It was obviously Bohen who had done it in order to make her position still more ridiculous. It was mean. She was not sure that it was not contemptible. Patricia was in the act of transcribing some particulars about infant mortality in England and Wales compared with that of Scotland when the Parliament entered with a note. Mr. Bonser stretched out his hand for it. It is from his brand, sir, said the maid. Patricia looked up in surprise. It was unusual for her to receive a note at the Bonsers. She opened the envelope mechanically and read. Dearest, I've just seen the morning post. It is sweet of you to relent. You've made me very happy. Will you dine with me tonight, and when may I take you to Grossman Square? My mother will want to see your new daughter-in-law. I so enjoyed last night. Surely the gods are on my side. Peter. Patricia read and re-read the note. For a moment she felt ridiculously happy. Then, with a swift change of mood, she saw the humiliation of her situation. Bohen thought it was she who had inserted the notice of the engagement. What must he think of her? It looked as if she had done it to burn his boats behind him. Then suddenly she seized the pen and wrote, Dear Lord Peter, I know nothing whatever about the announcement in the morning post, and I only heard of it when I arrived here. I cannot dine with you tonight, and I am very angry and upset that anyone should have had the impudence to interfere in my affairs. I shall take up the matter with the morning post people and insist on a contradiction immediately, nor sincerely, Patricia Brandt. With quick decisive movements Patricia followed the note, addressed the envelope, and handed it to the maid. Then she turned to Mr. Bonser. I am sorry to interrupt the work, Mr. Bonser, but that was rather an important note that I had to answer. Mr. Bonser smiled sympathetically. At lunchtime Patricia purchased a copy of the morning post, and there saw in all its unblushing mendacity the announcement. A marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between Lord Peter Bohen, DSO, MC, attached to the General Staff, son of the Seventh Markers of Mayfield, and Patricia Brandt, daughter of the late John Brandt, of Little Milstead. Why on earth must the ridiculous people put it at the top of the column? She muttered aloud. A man occupying an adjoining table at the place where she was lunching turned and looked at her. And now I must go back to Potatoes, Pigs, and Babies, said Patricia to herself, as she paid her bill and rose. Ah! She had scarcely settled down to her afternoon's work when the maid entered and announced, Lord Peter Bohen to see you, miss. Oh, bother! exclaimed Patricia. Tell him I'm busy. Will you please? The maid's jaw dropped. She was excellently trained, but no maid-servant could be expected to rise superior to such an extraordinary attitude on the part of a newly engaged girl. Nothing short of a butler who had lived in the best families could have risen to such an occasion. But Miss Brandt began Mr. Bonser. Better she had turned and froze him with a look. Will you give him my message, please, fellas? She said, and fellas walked out a disillusioned young woman. Two minutes later, Mrs. Bonser entered the room, flushed and excited. Oh, Miss Brandt, that silly girl has muddled up things somehow. Lord Peter Bohen is waiting for you in the morning room. I've just been talking to him and saying that I hope you'll both dine with us one day next week. The message was quite correct, Mrs. Bonser. I'm very busy with Pigs and Babies and Potatoes. I really cannot add Lord Peter to my responsibilities at the moment. Mrs. Bonser looked at Patricia as if she'd suddenly gone mad. But Miss Brandt began Mrs. Bonser, scandalised. I suppose I shall have to see him, said Patricia, rising with the air of one who is to perform an unpleasant task. I wish he'd stay at the War-Office and leave me to do my work. I suppose I shall have to write to Lord Darby about it. Mrs. Bonser, glanced at Mr. Bonser, who, however, was busily engaged in preparing an appropriate speech upon War-Office methods, suggested by Patricia's remark about Lord Darby. As Patricia entered the morning room, Bohen came forward. Oh, Patricia, why will you persist in being a cold douche? Why, this morning, I absolutely scandalised Peel by singing at the top of my voice whilst at my bath. And now, look at me now. Patricia looked at him, and then she was forced to laugh. He presented such a well-begone appearance. But what on earth have I to do with your singing in your bath? she inquired. It was the morning post-paragraph. I thought everything was going to be all right after last night, and now I'm at doormat again. Who inserted that paragraph? inquired Patricia. I rang up the morning post-office, and they told me that it was handed in by Miss Brandt, who was staying at the Mayfair Hotel. Aunt Adelaide! There was a death of meaning in Patricia's tone as she uttered the two words, then, turning to Bohen, she inquired. Did you tell them to contradict it? They asked me whether it were correct, he said, refusing to meet Patricia's eyes. What did you say? I said it was. He looked at her quizzically, like a boy who was expecting a severe scolding. Patricia had to bite her lips to prevent herself from laughing. You told the morning post-people that it was correct when you knew that it was wrong? Bohen hung his head. But it isn't wrong, he muttered. You know very well that it is wrong and that I'm not engaged to you and that no marriage has been arranged or ever will be arranged. Now I shall have to write to the editor and insist upon the statement being contradicted. Good Lord, don't do that, Patricia, broke in Bohen. They'll think we've all gone mad. And for once a newspaper editor will be right, was Patricia's comment. And will you die in to-night, Pat? Patricia looked up. This was the first time Bohen had used the diminutive of her name. Somehow it sounded very intimate. I am afraid I have an—an—an hesitation was her undoing. No, don't tell me fibs, please. You will die in with me, and then afterwards we will go on and see the Mater. She's dying to know you. How boyish and loverlike Bohen was in spite of his twenty-eight years, and—and—how different everything might have been if— Patricia was awakened from her thoughts by hearing Bohen say, Shall I pick you up here in the car? No, I—I've just told you I'm engaged, she said, And I've just told you that I won't allow you to be engaged to anyone but me, was Bohen's answer. If you won't come and dine with me, I'll come and play my hooter outside Galvenhouse until they send you out to get rid of me. You know, Patricia, I'm an awful fellow when I've set my mind on anything, and I'm simply determined to marry you, whether you like it or not. Very well, I will dine with you to-night at half-past-seven. I'll pick you up at Galvenhouse at a quarter-past-seven with the car. Very well, said Patricia, warily. It seemed ridiculous to try and fight against her fate, and at the back of her mind she had a plan of action, which she meant to put into operation. Now I must get back to my work. Goodbye. Bohen opened the door of the morning-room. Mrs. Bonser was in the hall. Patricia walked over to the library, leaving Bohen in Mrs. Bonser's clutches. Oh, Lord Peter! Mrs. Bonser gushed. I hope you and Miss Brent will dine with us. Patricia shut the library door without waiting to hear Bohen's reply. At five o'clock she gave up the unequal struggle with infant mortality statistics and walked listlessly across the park to Galvenhouse. She was tired and dispirited. It was the weather, she told herself. London in June could be very trying. Then there had been all that fuss over the morning post-announcement. At Galvenhouse she knew the same ordeal was awaiting her that she had passed through at Eaton Square. Mrs. Grask Moulton would be effusive. Miss Wangle would unbent. Miss Sycambe would simper. Mr. Bolton would be facetious. And all the others would be exactly what they had been all their lives. Only little more so as a result of the morning-post paragraph. Only the fact of Miss Wangle taking breakfast in bed had saved Patricia from the ordeal at breakfast. Miss Wangle was the only resident at Galvenhouse who regularly took the morning-post, it being the dear bishop's favourite paper. Arrived at Galvenhouse, Patricia went straight to her room. Deshing past Gustave, who greeted her with, Oh, Miss! Struggling at the same time to extract from his pocket a newspaper, Patricia felt that she should scream. Had everyone in Galvenhouse bought a copy of that day's morning-post, and would they all bring it out of their pockets and point out the passage to her? She sighed warily. Suddenly she jammed up from the bed where she had thrown herself, seized her writing-case, and proceeded to write feverishly. At the end of half an hour she read and addressed three letters, stamping two of them. The first was to the editor of the morning-post and ran. Dear sir, in your issue of today's date you make an announcement regarding a marriage having been arranged between Lord Peter Bowen and myself, which is entirely inaccurate. I am given to understand that this announcement was inserted on the authority of my aunt, Miss Adelaide Brent, and I must leave you to take what action you choose in relation to her. As for myself, I will ask you to be so kind as to insert a contradiction of the statement in your next issue. I am, yours faithfully, Patricia Brent. Patricia always prided herself on the business-like quality of her letters. The second letter was to Miss Brent. It ran. Dear Aunt Adelaide, I have written to the editor of the morning-post informing him that he must take such action as he sees fit against you for inserting your unauthorized statement that a marriage has been arranged between Lord Peter Bowen and me. It may interest you to know that the engagement has been broken off as a result of your impulsive and ill-advised action. Personally, I think you have rather presumed on being my soul-surviving relative. Your affectionate niece, Patricia. The third letter was to Bowen. Dear Lord Peter, I have written to the editor of the morning-post asking him to contradict the inaccurate statement published in today's issue. I am consumed with humiliation that such a thing should have been sent to him by a relative of mine, more particularly by a soul-surviving relative. My aunt, unfortunately, epitomizes in her personality all the least desirable characteristics to be found in relatives. I cannot tell you how sorry I am about... oh, everything. If you really want to save me from feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself, you will not only forget me, but also a certain incident. You have done me a great honour, I know, and you will add to it a great service if you will do as I ask and forget all about a folly that I have had cause bitterly to regret. Please forgive me for not dining with you tonight and for breaking my word, but I am feeling very unwell and tired and I have gone to bed. You are sincerely, Patricia Brent. Patricia's plan was to post a letter to Aunt Elliot in the morning-post and leave the other with Gustave to be given to Bowen when he called. She would then shut herself in a room and plead a headache as an excuse for not being disturbed. She would escape Miss Wengel and her waves of interrogation. As Patricia descended the stairs, Gustave was in the act of throwing open the door to Lady Tenegra. It was too late to retreat. Ah, there you are! exclaimed Lady Tenegra as she passed the respectful Gustave in the hall. Patricia descended the remaining stairs slowly and with dragging steps. Lady Tenegra looked at her sharply. Aren't we a nuisance? cried she. There's nothing more persistent in nature than a bone. Patricia's spider is quite a parochial affair in comparison. And she laughed lightly. Patricia smiled as she welcomed Lady Tenegra. For a moment she hesitated at the door of the lounge. Then, with a sudden movement, she turned towards the stairs. Come up to my room, she said. We can talk there. There was no cordiality in her voice. Lady Tenegra noticed that she looked worn out and ill. Once the bedroom door was closed, she turned to Patricia. My poor Patricia, whatever is the matter? You look thoroughly done up. Now lie down on the bed like a good girl and I will assume my best bedside manner. Patricia shook her head warily and indicating a chair by the window seated herself up on the bed. I'm afraid I am rather tired, she said. I was just going to lock myself up for the night. Now I'm going to cheer you up, cried Lady Tenegra. Was there ever a more tactless way of beginning but I've got something to tell you that it's so exquisitely funny that you cheer up an oyster or even a radical. First, Sir Patricia, I think I should like you to read these letters. Slowly and warily, she ripped open the three letters and handed them to Lady Tenegra, who read them through slowly and deliberately. This done, she folded each carefully, returned it to its envelope and handed them to Patricia. Well, Sir Patricia, Lady Tenegra smiled. Reaching across to the dressing table, she took a cigarette from Patricia's box and proceeded to light it. Patricia watched her curiously. I think you must have been meant for a man, Tenegra, she said after her pause. You have the gift of silence and nothing is more provoking to a woman. What do you want me to say? inquired Lady Tenegra. I like these cigarettes, she added. If you're not careful, you'll make me scream in a minute, Sir Patricia, with a smile. I showed you those letters and now you don't even so much as say thank you. Thank you very much indeed, Patricia, said Lady Tenegra meekly. You don't approve of them? There was undisguised challenge in Patricia's voice. I think the one to Miss Brent is admirable, especially if you will add a postscript after what I tell you. But the other two? Persistent Patricia. I do not think I'm qualified to express an opinion, am I? said Lady Tenegra calmly. Why not? You see, I'm an interested party. You? cried Patricia. Then, with a sudden change. Oh, if you're not careful, I shall come over and shake you. I think that will be very good for both of us, was Lady Tenegra's reply. Tell me what you mean, Persistent Patricia. Well, in the first place, the one to the editor of the morning post will make poor Peter ridiculous and the other will hurt his feelings You cannot expect me to be enthusiastic with either of them, can you? Lady Tenegra rose, and going over to Patricia put her arm round her and kissed her on the cheek. Then, Patricia did a very foolish thing. Without a word of warning, she threw her arms around Lady Tenegra's neck and burst into tears. Oh, I'm so wretched, Tenegra. I know I'm a beast and I want to hurt everybody and everything. I think I should like to hurt you even, she cried, her mood of crying passing as quickly as it had come. Don't you think we'd better just talk the thing out? Now, since you've asked my view, continued Lady Tenegra, I will give it. Your letter to the morning post people will make poor Peter the laughing stock of London. He has many enemies among ambitious mammas. Never have I known him to be attracted to what's a girl until you came along. He's really paying you a very great compliment. Patricia sniffed ominously. Then the letter to Peter would hurt him, because, you must forgive me, it is rather brutal, isn't it? Patricia nodded her head vigorously. Well, continued Lady Tenegra, what do you say if we destroy them both? But, but that would leave the morning post announcement and Peter, don't you think they might both be left just for the moment? Later you can wipe the floor with them. But, but you don't understand Tenegra, began Patricia. Don't you think that half of the troubles of the world are due to people wanting to understand? said Lady Tenegra calmly. I never want to understand. There are certain things I know and these are sufficient for me. In this case I know that I have a very good brother and he wants to marry a very good girl. But for some reason she won't have anything to do either with him or with me. She looked up into Patricia's face with a smile so holy disarming that Patricia was forced to laugh. If you knew Patricia's opinion of herself, she said to Lady Tenegra, you would be almost shocked. Well now, will you do something just to please me? Insinuated Lady Tenegra. You see, this big brother of mine has always been more or less my adopted child and you have it in your power to hurt him more than I want to see him hurt. That was an unusually serious note in Lady Tenegra's voice. Why not let things go on as they are for the present? Then later the engagement can be broken off if you wish it. I'll speak to Peter and see that he's not pterosome. Oh, but he's never been that, protested Patricia. Then she stopped suddenly in confusion. Lady Tenegra smiled to herself. Well, if he's never been pterosome I'm sure you wouldn't like to hurt him would you? She was speaking as if to a child. The only person I want to hurt is Aunt Adelaide. So Patricia will laugh. Lady Tenegra noticed with pleasure that the mood seemed to be dropping from her. Well, may I be the physician for today? continued Lady Tenegra. Patricia nodded her head. Very well then. I prescribe a dinner this evening with one Tenegra bone, Peter bone and Godfrey Elton on the principle of eat thou and drink, tomorrow thou shall die. Who's Godfrey Elton? asked Patricia with interest. My dear Patricia, if I were to start endeavouring to describe Godfrey we should be at it for hours. You can only absorb him. He's a sort of wise youth, rapidly approaching childhood. What on earth do you mean? cried Patricia, laughing. You'll discover for yourself later. We're all dining at the quadrant, tonight at eight. Dining at the quadrant? repeated Patricia in amazement. Yes, and I have to get home to dress and you have to dress and I will pick you up in a taxi at a quarter to eight. But... but Peter your brother said that he was coming. Peter has greater faith in his sister than in himself. He therefore took me into his confidence and I am his emissary. Oh, you boons, you boons! moaned Patricia in mock despair. There is no avoiding as I confess, said Lady Tenegra gaily. Now I must tell you about your charming aunt. She called upon mother yesterday. What? gasped Patricia. She called it gross and square and announced to poor un-understanding mother that she thought the families ought to know one another. But she got rather badly shocked by Godfrey and one of the soldier boys whom we call uncle and left with a firm conviction that our circle is a pernicious one. It's... it's perfectly scandalous, cried Patricia. No, it's not as bad as that, said Lady Tenegra calmly. What? began Patricia. Oh, I mean aunt Adelaide's conduct. It's humiliating, it's... Wait until you hear, said Lady Tenegra with a smile. When Peter ran in to see mother she said that she had had a call from Miss Brent and could he place her. So poor old Peter blurts out that he's going to marry Miss Brent. Poor mother nearly had a fit on the spot. She was too tactful to express her disapproval. But she showed it in her amazement. The result was that Peter was deeply hurt and left the room in the house. I am the only one who saw the exquisite humour of the joke. My poor darling mother had the impression that Peter had gone clean off his head and wanted to marry your most excellent aunt Adelaide. And Lady Tenegra laughed gaily. For a moment Patricia gazed at her blankly. Then as she visualised aunt Adelaide and Bone side by side at the altar she laughed hysterically. I kept mother in suspense for quite a long time. Then I told her, and I also rang up Peter and told him. And now I must fly, cried Lady Tenegra. I'll be here at a quarter to eight and if you're not ready I shall be angry. But if you've locked yourself in your room I shall better down the door. We're going to have a very happy evening and you'll enjoy yourself immensely. I think quite likely that Godfrey will fall in love with you as well as Peter, which will still further increase your embarrassments. Then with a sudden change of mood she said, Please cheer up, Patricia. Happiness is not a thing to be taken lightly. You've been a little overwrought of late. And now, goodbye. One moment please, Sir Patricia. Don't you understand that nothing can possibly be done on such a foundation as you're picking up Peter in the grill room of the quadrant? said Lady Tenegra calmly. Patricia gasped. Oh! she cried. Let's call things by their right names, said Lady Tenegra. At the present moment you're putting up rather a big fight against your own inclination and you're causing yourself a lot of unnecessary unhappiness. Is it worth it? she asked. Once self-respect is always worth any sacrifice. Sir Patricia. Except when you're in love and then you take pride in trampling it on the foot. With this or regular utterance Lady Tenegra departed with a bright nod, a smile and an insistence that Patricia should not come downstairs. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Patricia Bent Spinster This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon Patricia Brent Spinster by Herbert Jenkins Chapter 13 A Tactical Blunder I often think, remarked Lady Tenegra as she held herself a second time to her dove that if Godfrey could only be condensed or desiccated he would save the world from Anoui. Elton looked up from a sardine he was filleting with great interest and care. Concentration was the foundation of the matter. Does that mean that he is a food or a stimulant, inquired Patricia, Elton having returned to his sardine? Lady Tenegra regarded Elton with thoughtful brow. I think, she said deliberately, I should call him a habit. Does that imply that he is a drug upon the market, retorted Patricia? Bowen loved. Elton continued to fillet his sardine. You see, continued Lady Tenegra, Godfrey has two qualities that two women are maddening. The first is the gift of silence and the second is a perfect genius for making everyone else feel that they are in the wrong. Someday he'll fall in love and then something will snap and, well, he will give up dissecting sardines as if they were the one thing in life worthy of a man's attention. Elton looked up again straight into Lady Tenegra's eyes and smiled. Look at him now! continued Lady Tenegra That very smile makes me feel like a naughty child. The four were dining in Bowen's sitting-room at the quadrant. Lady Tenegra having decided that this would be more pleasant than in the public dining-room. Can you? continued Lady Tenegra, who was in a willful mood. Can you imagine Godfrey in love? I don't think any man ought to be allowed to fall in love until he is undergone an examination as to whether or no he can say the right thing the right way. No, it takes an Irishman to make love. But an Irishman says what he can possibly mean, said Patricia, with the air of one of vast experience in such matters. And many Englishmen mean what they cannot possibly say, said Elton, looking at Lady Tenegra. Oh! cried Lady Tenegra, clapping her hands. You've drawn him, Patricia. Now he will talk to us instead of concentrating himself upon his food. Ah! she exclaimed suddenly, turning to Elton. I promise that she should fall in love with Patricia, Godfrey. Now that Tenegra has come down to probabilities, the atmosphere should lighten, Elton remarked. Isn't that Godfrey all over? demanded Lady Tenegra of Bone. He will snap one woman and compliment another in a breath. Patricia, she continued, I warn you against Godfrey. He is highly dangerous. He should always be preceded by a man with a red flag. But why? asked Bone. Because of his reticence. Elton has no right to be reticent. It piques a woman's curiosity, and with us curiosity is the first step to surrender. Why hesitated the first step? asked Elton. Think of it, Patricia, continued Lady Tenegra, ignoring Elton's remark. Although Godfrey has seen the morning post, he has not yet congratulated Peter. I did not know then that I had caused to congratulate him, said Elton quietly. What mental balance! Elton looked first at Lady Tenegra, and then on to Patricia, and smiled. Can you not see Godfrey choosing a wife? demanded Lady Tenegra, laughing, weighing the shape of her head with the size of her ankles. He is very fussy about ankles. He would dissect her as he would a sardine, demanding perfection, mental, moral and physical, and in return, he would give a heart-to-heart. Elton looked first at Lady Tenegra, and in return, he would give himself. Lady Tenegra emphasized the last word. Most men take less time to choose a wife than they would at Trousering, said Elton quietly. I think Mr. Elton is right, said Patricia. Then you don't believe in love at first sight, said Bernd to Patricia. Miss Bren did not say that in the post, Elton. She merely implied that a man who falls in love at first sight at Trousering's at first sight. Is that not so? He looked across at Patricia. Patricia nodded. An impetuous man will be impetuous in all things, said Bernd. He who hesitates may lose a wife, said Lady Tenegra, and by analogy go without Trousers, said Elton quietly. That might explain a Greek, but scarcely a Scotsman, said Patricia. No one has ever been able to contend ourselves with misunderstanding him. We were talking about love, broken Lady Tenegra, and I will not have the conversation diverted. Turning to Patricia, she demanded. Can you imagine Godfrey in love? I think so, said Patricia, quietly, looking across at Elton. Only... Only what, cried Lady Tenegra with excited interest. Oh, please, Patricia, explain Godfrey to me. No one has ever done so. Don't you think he is a little like the Scotsman we were talking about just now, said Patricia? Difficult to explain, but easy to misunderstand. Oh, Peter! Peter! wailed Lady Tenegra, looking across a bone. She's caught it. Caught what? Asked Boen in surprise. The vagueness of generalities that is Godfrey replied Lady Tenegra. Now, Patricia, you must explain that only at which she broke off. In love only. I think he would place it on the same plain as honour and sportsmanship, probably a little above both. Elton looked up from the bread he was crumbling and gave Patricia a quick penetrating glance beneath which her eyes fell. Lady Tenegra looked at Patricia in surprise, but said nothing. Can you imagine Tan in love, Patricia, inquired Boen? We bones are notoriously backward in matters of the heart, he added. I shall fall in love when the man comes along who who, Lady Tenegra, paused. We'll compel you, Patricia, concluding the sentence. Again Elton looked quickly across at her. What do you mean? Demanded Lady Tenegra. I think, Patricia, deliberately, that you are too primitive to fall in love. You would have to be stormed, carried away by force and wooed afterwards. It doesn't sound very respectable, does it? said Lady Tenegra thoughtfully. Then, turning to Boen, she demanded. Peter, would you allow me to be carried away by force, stormed and wooed afterwards? I think, Tenegra, you sometimes forget that your atmosphere is too exotic for most men, said Elton. Godfrey, said Lady Tenegra, reproachfully. I've had quite a lot of proposals and I won't be denied my successes. We were talking about love, not offers of marriage, said Elton with a smile. Cynic, cried Lady Tenegra, you imply that the men who have proposed to me wanted my money and not myself. Suppose, Tenegra, there were a right man, said Patricia, and he was poor and honorable. What then? I suppose I should have to ask him to marry me, said Lady Tenegra, dubiously. But then we've just decided, said Boen, that you have to be carried away by force and cannot love until force has been applied. I think I've had enough of this conversation, said Lady Tenegra. You're trying to prove that I'm either going to lose my reputation or die in Old Maid and I'm not so sure that you're wrong about the Old Maid, I mean, she added. I shall depend upon you, Godfrey, then, she said, turning to Elton, and we will hobble about the park together on Sunday mornings comparing notes upon rheumatism and gout. Bah! You're deliberately round the table from one to the other. Has it ever struck you what we shall look like when we grow very old? She asked. No one need ever grow old, said Patricia. How can you prevent it? asked Boen. And there's Morphe and the Fountain of Eternal Youth, suggested Elton. Please don't let's be clever any more, said Lady Tenegra. It's affecting my brain. Now we will play bridge for a little while and we will play. In spite of her protests, Boen insisted on seeing Patricia to Galvin House. For some time they did not speak. As the taxi turned into Oxford Street, Boen broke the silence. Patricia, my mother wants to know you, he said simply. Patricia shivered. The words came as a shock. They recalled the incident of her meeting with Boen. She seemed to see a grey-haired lady with Boen's eyes and quiet manner, too well-bred to show that his approval was bearing the story of her son's first meeting with his fiancé. She shared it again. Are you cold? Boen inquired solicitously, leading forward to close the window nearest to him. No. I was thinking what Lady Mayfield will think when she hears how you made the acquaintance of... of... me. She finished lamely. There's no reason why she should know, said Boen. Patricia broke off suddenly in confusion. But why? began Boen. If ever I meet Lady Mayfield, I shall tell her exactly how I... I... met you, said Patricia, with decision. Well, tell her then, said Boen could humorately. She has a real sense of humour. In the moment Boen had uttered the words, he saw his mistake. Patricia drew herself up coldly. It was rather funny, wasn't it? she said evenly. But mothers do not encourage their sons to develop such acquaintances. Now shall we talk about something else? But my mother wants to meet you, protested Boen. She... Tell her the story of our acquaintance, replied Patricia coldly. I think that will effectively overcome her wish to know me. Ha! here we are. She concluded, as the taxi drew up at Galvin House. The taxi drove up, leaving Boen conscious that he had once more said the wrong thing. That night, as Patricia prepared for bed, she mentally contrasted the Boen's social sphere with that of Galvin House, and she shut it for the third time that evening. Patricia Brent, she apostrophised her reflection in the mirror. You're a fool, and you have not even the saving grace of being an old fool. High Society has turned your giddy young head, and with a laugh that sounded hard given to her own ears, she got into bed and switched off the light. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of Patricia Brent Spinster This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon. Patricia Brent Spinster by Herbert Jenkins Chapter 14 Galvin House meets her Lord The fact of the Morning Post announcement upon Galvin House had been little short of sensational. Although all were aware of the engagement, to see the announcement in print seemed to arouse them to a point of enthusiasm. Everyone, from the servants upwards, possessed a copy of the Morning Post with the single exception of Mrs. Spahn's who had mislaid hers and made everybody's life a misery by insisting on examining their copy to make quite sure that they had not taken hers by mistake. Had not Patricia been so preoccupied she could not have failed to notice the atmosphere of suppressed excitement at Galvin House. Many glances were directed at her glances of superior knowledge of which she was entirely unconscious. Womanlike she never paused to ask herself what she really felt or what she really meant. Her thoughts ran in a circle coming back inevitably to the maddening question What does he really think of me? Why had fate been so in kind as to undermine a possible friendship with that damning introduction? After all, she would ask herself indifferently. What did it matter? Bone was nothing to her. Then back again her thoughts would rush to the inevitable question what did they really think? Since the night of her adventure Patricia had formed the habit of dressing for dinner. She made neither excuse nor explanation to herself as to why she did so. Miss Wango and Mrs. Moskrup's smith however had covetly remarked upon the fact. But Patricia had ignored them. She had reached that state in her psychological development when she neither explained nor denied things. With delicacy and insight Providence has withheld from woman the uncomfortable quality of introspection. Had Patricia subjected her actions to the rigid test of reason she would have found them strangely at variance with her determination. With a perversity characteristic of her sex she forbade Bone to see her and then spent hours in speculating as to when and how he would disobey her. A parcel in the hole at Galvin House the colour flooding to her cheeks whilst Gustave, entering the lounge bearing his flamboyant, nickel-plated apology for the conventional silver salvo set her heart thumping with expectation. As the day on which Bone was to die at Galvin House drew near the excitement became intense developing into a panic when the day itself dawned. All were wondering how this or that garment would turn out when actually worn and those who were not in difficulties with their clothes were troubled about their manners. Menace were things that were worn like a gardenia or a patent hook and eye. Patricia had once explained to an uncomprehending aunt Adelaide that Galvin House had more manners than breeding. On the Friday evening when Patricia returned to Galvin House Gustave was in the hole. Oh, miss! he involuntarily exclaimed. Patricia waited for more but after a moment of hesitation Gustave disappeared along the hole as if there were nothing strange in his conduct leaving Patricia staring after him in surprise. At that moment Mrs. Grask Morton bustled out of the lounge full of an unwanted importance. Oh, miss Brent! she exclaimed. I'm so glad you've come. I have a few friends coming to dinner this evening and we are dressing. Without waiting for a reply Mrs. Grask Morton returned and disappeared along the passage leading to the servants' regions. At that moment Mr. Bolton appeared at the top of the stairs in his shirt sleeves but at the side of Patricia he turned and bolted precipitately out of sight. Patricia walked slowly upstairs and along the corridor to her room unconscious that each door she passed was closed upon a tragedy. In one room Mrs. Spantz sat on her bed in an agony of indecision and a chemisole wondering how the seams of her only evening frock could be made black with a blue-black ink that had been given her at the station and shop in error. Mr. James Harris, a little bearded man with long legs and a short body stood in front of his glass frankly baffled by the problem of how to keep the top of his trousers from showing above the opening of his low-cut evening waistcoat an abandoned garment that seemed determined to show all that it was supposed to hide. Miss Sycambe was engaged in a losing game with delicacy. On her lap lay the brickson Paris model blouse which she had adorned with narrow black velvet ribbon. Should she or should she not enlarge the surface of exposure? If she did Miss Wangle might think her fast. If she did not Lord Peter might think her suburban. Mr. Sefton would at work upon his back hair striving to remove from his reflection in the glass a likeness to a sandy cockatoo. Mr. Quarrow was vainly struggling with a voluminous starched shirt which as he bent seemed determined to give him the appearance of a powder pigeon. To each his strategy and to all their anguish even Miss Wangle had her problem. Should she or should she not remove the lace of her modest fee in her black silk evening gown? The thought of the bishop however proved too much for her and her collarbones continued to remain a mystery to Galvin House. The Dena Gong found everyone anxious and unprepared. All had a vision of bones sitting in judgment upon them and mentally comparing Galvin House with Park Lane, foreign base water. Park Lane is the pinnacle of culture and social splendour. A few minutes after the last strain of the Gong pounded by Gustave and worthy of the occasion had subsided, Miss Sickam crept out from her room feeling very undressed. The sight of Mr. Sefton nearly drove her back precipitately to the maiden fastness of her chamber. Was she really too undressed? She asked herself. Slowly the guests descended, each anxious to seep to others the pride of place, all absorbed with his or her particular tragedy. By the aid of pins Mr. Quarrow had overcome his likeness to a pigeon which tore the pins from her hold allowing his shirt front to balloon out joyfully before him for the rest of the evening obscuring his boots. Miss Wangle looked at Miss Sickam and mentally thanked heaven and the bishop that she had restrained her abandoned impulse to remove the black lace from her own neck. Mr. Bolton's attention was concentrated upon the centre stud of his shirt. The buttonhole was too large and the head of the stud insisted on disappearing in a most cockatish and embarrassing manner. Mr. Bolton was not sure that bone would approve of blue underwear and consequently kept her finger and thumb upon his stud for the greater part of the evening. As each entered the lounge it was with a hurried glance round to see if the guests of the evening had arrived followed by a sigh of relief on discovering that he had not. Mrs. Graskmorton had taken the precaution of deferring the dinner until eight o'clock. She wished bones entry to be dramatic. Mrs. Graskmorton had asked a few friends of her own to meet her distinguished guest Bill, who was composed in claret colour and royal blue trimming, and Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Rackbone. Mrs. Rackbone was a stout, jolly woman with a pronounced cockney accent. Mr. Rackbone was a man whose eyebrows seemed to rise higher with each ear and whose manner of patient suffering became more pathetically unreal with the passage of each season. Mrs. Graskmorton always explained him as a solicitor. Morton, Gaufrim and Bowett of Lincoln's inn knew him as their chief clerk. The atmosphere of the lounge was one of nervous tension. All were listening for the bell which would announce the arrival of Bowen. When at last he came, everybody was taken by surprise. Mr. Bolton's stout eluded his grasp. Mr. Sefton felt his back hair, whilst Miss Sycambe blushed rosely at her own daring. A dead silence spread over the company, broken by Gustave, who, throwing open the door with a flourish, announced Lieutenant Colonel Lord Peter Bowen, DSO. He gave him a quick glance with widened eyes. Then, coming forward, shook hands with Mrs. Graskmorton. Miss Sycambe was disappointed to find that he was in khaki. She had a vague idea that nobility adopted different evening clothes from the ordinary rank and file. It would have pleased her to see Bowen with velvet stripes down his trousers, a velvet collar and velvet cuffs. A collared silk waistcoat would have convinced her. Mrs. Graskmorton was determined to do her work thoroughly. She had taken the precaution of telling Patricia that dinner would not be served until a few minutes after eight. That would give her time to introduce Bowen to all the guests. She proceeded to conduct him around to everyone in turn. In her flurry, she quite forgot the careful schooling to which she had subjected herself for a week past, and she introduced Miss Wangle to Bowen. Lord Peter, allow me to introduce Miss Wangle. Miss Wangle, Lord Peter Bowen. And this was the form adopted with the rest of the company. Bowen's sixth bow had just been interrupted by Mr. Caudall grasping him warmly by the hand when Patricia entered. For a moment she looked about her, regarding the strange toilet. Then she saw Bowen. She felt herself crimsoning as he slipped away from Mr. Caudall's grasp and came across to her. All the guests hung back as if this were the meeting between Willington and Bluehill. I've done six. There are about twenty more to do. If you save me, Patricia, I'll forgive you anything after we're married. Patricia shook hands sedately. Mrs. Graskmorton bustled up to reclaim Bowen. A little surprise, Miss Brent. I hope you'll forgive me. Patricia smiled at her in anything but a forgiving spirit. And now, Lord Peter, I want to introduce you to... Dina is served, madame. Gustave was certainly doing the thing in style. At a sign from Mrs. Graskmorton, Miss Wangle secured Mr. Samuel Rackbone and they started for the dining room. The remainder of the guests paired off in accordance with Mrs. Graskmorton's instructions, written and verbal, she left nothing to chance, and the procession was brought up by Mrs. Graskmorton herself and Bowen. Patricia felt a lot of Mr. Sefton. As soon as the guests were seated, a death-like stillness reigned. Bowen was looking round with interest as he unfolded his napkin into which had been deftly inserted a roll. Miss Sycambe, Mrs. Moskrup-Smith and Mr. Bowden each lost their rolls, which were retrieved from underneath the table by Gustave and Alice. Mr. Sefton, also unconscious of the secreted roll, opened his napkin with a debonair jerk to show that he was quiet at his ease. The bread rose in the air. He made an unsuccessful clutch, touched but could not hold it, and watched with horror the errant roll hit Miss Wangle playfully on the side of the nose just as she was beginning to tell Bowen about the dear bishop. Patricia bit her lip. Bowen bent solicitously over the angry Miss Wangle whilst Mr. Bowden threatened to report Mr. Sefton to the food-controller. Gustave created a diversion by arriving with the soup. His white cotton gloves, several sizes too large even for his hands, caused him great anxiety. Every spare moment during the evening he spent in clutching them at the wrists just as they were on the point of slipping off. Nothing, however, could daunt his courage or mitigate his good humour. For the first time in his life he was waiting upon a real lord and from the circumstance he was extracting every ounce of satisfaction it possessed. In serving Bowen, his attitude was that of one self-convicted of unworthiness. Accustomed to the complaints and bickering of a base-water boarding-house bones matter-effect motions of acceptance or refusal impressed him profoundly. So this was how lords behaved. Nothing so impressed him as a little incident of the champagne. At Galvin House it was the custom for the guests to have their own drinks. Mr. Corwell, for instance, drank what the label on the bottle announced to be Gumpton's Superior Light Dare Ale. Mr. Scruff Smythe favoured Guinness's stout. Miss Sicken took hot water whilst Miss Wangle satisfied herself with a Claret bottle. There was refinement in Claret. The dear bishop always drank it with water. But as Claret costs money Miss Wangle made a bottle last for months. The thought of the usual heterogeneous collection of bottles on the occasion of Lord Peter's visit had filled Mrs. Graskmorton with horror and she had decided to spring wine as Mr. Bolton put it. Four bottles of one and eight penny Claret. The bottles rendered beautifully old by applied dust and cobwebs. To this she had added a bottle of grocers champagne for bone. Gustave had been elaborately instructed that this was for the principal guest and the principal guest only. And Mrs. Graskmorton had managed to convey to him in some sort of way that if he poured so much as a drop of the precious fluid into any other person's glass the consequences would be too terrifying even to contemplate. As he was murmuring softly over its soup Gustave approached Bone with a champagne bottle swayed in a white napkin and looking suspiciously like an infant in long clothes. Holding the end of the bottle's ropes with a left hand so that it should not tickle Bone's ear Gustave bent anxiously to his task. Bone, however, threw a bombshell at the earnest servitor. He motioned that he did not desire a champagne. Gustave hesitated and looked inquiringly at his mistress. You'll take champagne? inquired Mrs. Graskmorton ingratiatingly. Gustave breathed again and whilst Bone's attention was distracted in explaining to Mrs. Graskmorton that he preferred water he had a delicate taste in wine Gustave filled the glass happily. Of course it was all right he told himself the Lord merely wanted to be pressed. If he had really meant no he would have put his hand over his glass as Miss Sycamore always did when she refused some of Mr. Caudle's light dinner ale. Gustave retired victorious with a champagne bottle which he placed upon the sideboard. At every interval in his manifold duties Gustave returned with a white clothed bottle and strove to squeeze a few more drops into Bone's untouched glass. That terrifying constraint with which the meal had opened gradually wore off as the wine circulated. Following the path of least resistance it mounted to Mrs. Moskrup's mind's head but with Miss Sycamore it seemed to stop short at her nose. Mr. Caudle's short front announced that he had temporarily given up gumton in favour of the red, red wine of the smoking-concert baritone. Mrs. Barnes seemed on the point of tears whilst Mr. Sefton's attentions to Patricia were a direct challenge to Bone. Conversation with Galvin House was usually general but it now became particular. Every remark was directed either to or at Bone and each guest strove to hear what he said. Those who were fortunate enough to catch his replies told those who were not. A smile or a laugh from anyone who might be in conversation with Bone rippled down the table. Mr. Caudle was less intent upon his food and his inaccuracy of aim became more than ever noticeable. Oh Lord Bone! simped Miss Sycamore. Do tell us where you got the DSO. Bone screwed his glass into his eye and looked across at Miss Sycamore at the retinas of her nose and the artificial rows in her hair. Everyone was waiting anxiously for Bone's reply. Mr. Caudle grunted approval. At Buckingham Palace, Sir Bone, from the King, they give you special leave, you know. Patricia looked across at him and smiled. What was he thinking of Galvin House refinement? What did he think of her for being there? Well, he had brought it on himself and he deserved his punishment. At first Patricia had been amused but as the meal dragged warily on amusement developed into torture. Would it never end? She glanced from his wangle, all graciousness and smiles to Mrs. Sycamore in her faded blue evening frock, on to Miss Sycamore, bare and abandoned. She heard Mr. Sefton's chatter, Mr. Bolton's laugh, Mr. Caudle's jaws and lips. She shut it. Why did she not accept the opening of escape that now presented itself and Mary Bone? He could rescue her from all this and what it meant. And shall we all be asked to the wedding, Lord Bone? It was again Miss Sycamore's thin voice that broke through the curtain with thoughts. I hope all Miss Brent's friends will be there, replied Bone diplomatically. And now we shall all have to fetch and carry from Miss Brent, laughed Mr. Bolton. Am I your friend, Miss Brent? he inquired. She always laughs at your jokes when nobody else can, snapped Miss Pilkington. Everybody turned to the speaker who during the whole meal had silently nursed her resentment at having been placed at the bottom of the table. Mr. Bolton looked crestfallen. Bone looked across at Patricia and saw her smile sympathetically at Mr. Bolton. I think from what I've heard, Mr. Bolton, he said, that you may regard yourself as one of the elect. Patricia flashed Bone a grateful look. Mr. Bolton beamed and, turning to Miss Pilkington, said with his usual introductory laugh, then I shall return good for evil, Miss Pilkington, and persuade Lady Peter to buy her stems at your place. Miss Pilkington flushed at this reference to her calling, a particularly threadbare joke of Mr. Bolton's. When is it to be, Lord Peter? inquired Mrs. Graskmorton. Miss Sycambe looked down modestly at her plate, not quite certain whether or no this were a delicate question. That rests with Miss Brent, replied Bone, smiling. If you, her friends, can persuade her to make it soon, I shall be very grateful. Miss Sycambe simped a moment under her breath. How romantic! Now, Miss Brent, said Mr. Bolton, it's up to you to name the happy day. Patricia smiled, conscious that all eyes were upon her, but particularly conscious of Bone's gaze. I believe in long engagements, she said, stealing a glance at Bone, and thrilling at the look of disappointment on his face. Didn't Jacob serve seven years for Rachel? Yes, and got the wrong girl then, broke in, Mr. Bolton. You'll have to be careful, Miss Brent, or Miss Sycambe will get ahead of you. Really, Mr. Bolton? Said Mrs. Grask-Molton, looking anxiously at Bone. Miss Sycambe's cheeks had assumed the same tint as her nose, and her eyes were riveted upon her plate. Miss Billkington mustered something under her breath about Mr. Bolton's remark being outrageous. I think we'll take coffee in the lounge, said Mrs. Grask-Molton, rising. Turning to Bone, she added, We followed the American custom, Lord Peter. The gentlemen always leave the dining room with the ladies. There was a pushing back of chairs, shuffling of feet, and Galvin House rose from its repast. Coffee will not be served for half an hour, and if you and Miss Brent would like to... to... Mrs. Grask-Molton paused significantly. My boudoir is at your service. Bone looked at her, and then at Patricia. He saw the flush on her cheeks and the humiliation in her eyes. I think we should much prefer not to interrupt our pleasant conversation. What do you say, Patricia? He inquired, turning to Patricia, who smiled her acquiescence. They all trooped into the lounge, where everybody, except Patricia, Bone and Mrs. Grask-Molton, stood about in awkward poses. The arrival of good staff with coffee relieved the tension. For the next hour, each guest endeavored to attract to himself or herself Bone's attention, and each was disappointed when at length he rose to go and shook hands only with Mrs. Grask-Molton, including the others in a comprehensive bow. Still more were they disappointed and surprised when Patricia did not go out into the hall to see him off. Oh, Miss Brent! simped Miss Sickham. Aren't you going to say good night to him? Good night, interrogated Patricia. But I did. Yes, but I mean... began Miss Sickham. Oh, you know! She said with a simper, but Patricia had passed over to a chair, where she seated herself and began to read a newspaper upside down. Miss Sickham's romantic soul had received a shock. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of Patricia Brent, Spinster This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Seawam. Patricia Brent, Spinster, by Herbert Jenkins. Chapter 15 Mr. Tricks takes tea in Kensington Garden. 1. Well, my dear, how goes it? Mr. Tricks fluttered the room with his genial person, mopping his brow with a large bandana handkerchief and blowing a tearful protest against the excessive heat. Patricia looked up from her work and greeted him with a tired smile as he collapsed heavily upon a chair which creaked ominously beneath his weight. 1. When you're sixty-two in the shade, it ain't like being twenty-five in the sun, he said, laughing happily at this joke. Now you must sit quiet and be good, admonished Patricia. 2. I'm busy with beetles. 3. Busy with what? Demanded Mr. Tricks, arresting the process of fanning himself with his handkerchief. 4. The potato beetle, explained Patricia. There's no lack of variety in the life of an MP's secretary. Babies and beetles, picks and potatoes, mead and margarine, they all have their allotted place. 5. Oh, Mr. Tricks, you mustn't do anything of the sort. He's most kind and considerate, and if I'm here, I must do what he wants. Pat beetles and babies and potatoes, my dear, said Mr. Tricks. 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. Tricks' face. Mr. Tricks mumbled something to himself. God bless my soul, he exclaimed a moment after. Here am I, forgetting what I come about. I've seen the morning post, my dear. Patricia pushed back her chair from the table and turned and faced Mr. Tricks. Mr. Tricks, she said, if you mentioned the words morning post to me again, I think I shall kill you. Mr. Tricks' hands dropped to his side as he gazed at her in blank astonishment. But, my dear, you began. The engagement has been broken off, announced Patricia. Mr. Tricks' jaw dropped and he gazed at Patricia in amazement. Broken off, he repeated. Engagement broken off? Why, damn him! I'll punch his head! And he made an effort to rise. Patricia laughed a little hysterically. He mustn't blame Lord Peter, she said. It is I who have broken it off. Mr. Tricks collapsed into the chair again. You broke it off, he exclaimed. You broke off the engagement with a knife, you broke off the engagement with a nice young chap like him? Patricia nodded. Well, I am bloated. Mr. Tricks sat staring at Patricia as she suddenly became 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've been having 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. Tricks continued to nod his head wisely. That's what's the matter, he met it. Why, he added, you'll never get another young chap like him. Took a great fancy to him, I did. Now all you've got to do is just to kiss and make it up. Then you'll feel happier than ever afterwards. Patricia realized the impossibility of conveying to Mr. Tricks that her decision was irrevocable. Furthermore she was anxious that he should go and promised to get out certain statistics for Mr. Bonser. Now you really must go, Mr. Tricks. 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, my 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. Tricks, 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, goodbye, my dear. I'll see you again soon. So Mr. Tricks, still nodding his head with genial conviction as to the rightness of his diagnosis. And now I'll be trotten. 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. He started 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. Aye, aye, 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 Bone of the quadrant. Two minutes later Peel descended in a lift to inform him that his lordship had not yet returned to lunch. Was Mr. Tricks expected? Well, no, confessed Mr. Tricks looking at Peel a little and suddenly. He wasn't expecting me, but he asked me the other night if I called in when I was passing and as I was passing I called in, see. For a moment Peel seemed to hesitate. His lordship has launched an 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. Tricks 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 in more than a minute or two. This gentleman he looked at the card. Mr. Tricks is— Oh, Mr. Tricks, how do you do? cried Lady Tenegra, extending her hand. Mr. Tricks looked at the exquisite little vision before him in surprise and admiration. He took the prophet 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. Tricks followed Lady Tenegra 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 Boone's sitting-room he at last found voice. I'd just been to see her, he said. Who, Patricia? asked Lady Tenegra. Mr. Tricks nodded, and there was a look in his eyes which implied that he was not at all satisfied with what he had seen. Quarled, I haven't they? he asked. Well, began Lady Tenegra, not quite knowing how much Mr. Tricks actually knew of the circumstances of the case. Such had broken it off. Whatever we're talking to, I did. She'll never get another young chap like him. Did you tell her so? asked Lady Tenegra. Tell her so. I should think I did, said Mr. Tricks. And more than once, too. Oh, you foolish, foolish man! cried Lady Tenegra, wringing her hands in mock despair. A moment afterwards she burst out laughing at the comical look of dismay on Mr. Tricks' face. What have I done? Why, don't you see that you've implied that all the luck is on her side and that will make her simply furious? But, but began Mr. Tricks helplessly, looking very much like a scolded child. Now, sit down, ordered Lady Tenegra, with an irresistible smile. And I'll tell you, my brother wants to marry Patricia, and Patricia, for some reason best known to herself, says that it can't be done. Now I'm sure that she's fond of Peter, that he has been so impetuous, that he has rather taken her breath away. I've never known him like it before, said Lady Tenegra, plaintively. But he's an awfully lucky fellow if he gets her, broken Mr. Tricks, as if feeling that something were required of him. Why, of course he is, said Lady Tenegra. Now, will you help us, Mr. Tricks? Lady Tenegra looked at him with an expression that would have extracted a promise of help from St. Anthony himself. Of course I will, my dear. I beg your pardon, stuttered Mr. Tricks. Never mind, let it stand at that, said Lady Tenegra gaily. I'm sure we're going to be friends, Mr. Tricks. Knew it the moment I set eyes on you, said Mr. Tricks with conviction. Well, we've got to arrange this affair for these young people, said Lady Tenegra, with a wise air. First of all, we've got to prove to Patricia that she's really in love with Peter. If she's not in love with him, then we've got to make her in love with him. Do you understand? Mr. Tricks nodded his head with an air that clearly said he was far from understanding. Well, now, said Lady Tenegra. Patricia knows only three people that know Peter. There is you, Godfrey Elton, and myself. Now, if she's in love with him, she'll want to hear about him and... But ain't she going to see him? Demanded Mr. Tricks incredulously. No, she says that she doesn't want Peter ever to see her, write to her, telephone to her, or, as far as I can see, exist on the same planet with her. But... but... began Mr. Tricks. It's no good reasoning with a woman, Mr. Tricks. We women are always unreasonable as the income tax. Now, if you'll do as you're told, we will prove that Patricia is wrong. Very well, my dear, began Mr. Tricks. Now, this is my plan, interrupted Lady Tenegra. If Patricia really cares for Peter, she will want to hear about him from friends. She will, very cleverly as she thinks, lead up the conversation to him when she meets you, or when she meets Godfrey Elton, or when she meets me. Now, what we have to do is just as carefully to avoid talking about him. Turn the conversation onto some other topic. Now, we've all got to plot and scheme and plan like... like Germans, interrupted Mr. Tricks. Splendid, cried Lady Tenegra, clapping her hands. But why have she changed her mind? asked Mr. Tricks. You must never ask a woman why she changes her frock, or why she changes her mind, because she never really knows, said Lady Tenegra. Probably she does it, because she hasn't got anything else particularly to do at the moment. Ah, here's Peter, she cried. Bowen came forward and shook hands cordially with Mr. Tricks. This is splendid of you, he said. You'll lunch with us, of course. Oh, no, no, said Mr. Tricks. I just ran into... to... to get to know me, said Lady Tenegra, with a smile. Of course, that's it, cried Mr. Tricks, beaming. I can't stop to lunch though, I'm afraid. I must be going to... Have you got a lunch on engagement? asked Lady Tenegra. Um, well, yes. Please don't tell Phipps, Mr. Tricks. You're not engaged to lunch with anybody and you're going to lunch with us. So that settles. I bless my soul. Blue Mr. Tricks helplessly as he mopped his head with his handkerchief. I bless my soul. It's no good, Mr. Tricks. When Tenegra wants anything, she has it. It's a bone with a laugh. It doesn't matter whether it's the largest pair or the nicest man. Lady Tenegra laughed. Now we'll go down into the dining room. For an hour and a half they talked of Patricia, and at the end of the meal both Lady Tenegra and Bone knew that they had a firm ally in Mr. Tricks. Don't forget Mr. Tricks, cried Lady Tenegra, as she bade him good-bye in the vestibule. You're a matchmaker now, and you must be very careful. And Mr. Tricks lifted his head and waved his umbrella as, writhing in smiles, he trotted towards the revolving doors and out into the street. Tenegra extracted from Bone a grudging promise of implicit obedience. He must not see, telephone, write, or telegraph to Patricia. He was to eliminate himself altogether. But for how long, Tan, he inquired moodily. It may be for years, and it may be for ever, cried Lady Tenegra gaily as she buttoned her gloves. Anyhow, it's your only chance. Damn! muttered Bone under his breath as he watched her disappear. But I'll give it a trial. Two. The next afternoon, as Patricia walked down the steps of number 426 Eaton Square and turned to the left, she was conscious, and in spite of the summer sunshine, the world was very grey about her. She had not gone a hundred yards before Lady Tenegra's grey car slid up beside her. Will you take pity on me, Patricia? I'm out of the loose end, cried Lady Tenegra. Patricia turned with a little cry of pleasure. Jump in, cried Lady Tenegra. It's no good refusing a bone. Our epidermis are too thick. Or should be epidermi. Patricia shook her head and laughed as she seated herself beside Lady Tenegra. The car crewed its way up Sloan Street and across into Knightsbridge. Lady Tenegra intent upon her driving. Is it indiscreet to ask where you're taking me, inquired Patricia, with elaborate humility? Lady Tenegra laughed as she jammed on the brake to avoid running to the stern of a motor omnibus. I feel like a pirate today. I want to run away with someone, or do something desperate. Have you ever felt like that? A politician's secretary must not encourage such unrespectable instincts, she replied. Lady Tenegra looked at her quickly, noting the flatness of her voice. A wise hand should never brood upon being a hen, she remarked oraculately. Patricia laughed. It is all very well for dives to tell Lazarus that it is noble to withstand the pangs of hunger, she replied. Now let us go and get tea, said Lady Tenegra, as she turned the car into the road running between Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. Tea, cried Patricia. Why? It's past five. Tea is a panacea for all ills and a liquid for all hours. You have only to visit a government department for proof of that, said Lady Tenegra, as she descended from the car and walked towards the umbrella-sheltered tea-tables dotted about beneath the trees. And now I want to have a talk with you for a few minutes," she said, as they seated themselves at an empty table. I feel in the mood for listening, said Patricia, provided it is not to be good advice, she added. I've been having a serious talk with Lady Tenegra. Patricia looked up at her. Overhead, white, fleecy clouds played a game of hide-and-seek with the sunshine. The trees rustled languidly in the breeze, and in the distance a peacock screamed ominously. I have told him, continued Lady Tenegra, that I will not have you worried, and he has promised me not to see you, ride to you, telephone to you, send you messenger boys, chocolates, flowers, or anything else in the world. He's out of your way, forever and ever. Patricia looked across at Lady Tenegra in surprise, but said nothing. I told him, continued Lady Tenegra evenly, that I would not have my friendship with you spoiled through his impetuous blundering. I think I told him he was suburban. In fact, I quite bullied the poor boy. So now, she added, with the air of one who has earned a lifelong debt of gratitude, you'll be able to go your way without fear of the ubiquitous Peter. Still, Patricia said nothing as she sat looking down upon the empty plate before her. Now we'll forget all about Peter and talk and think of other things. Ah, here he is! She cried suddenly. Patricia looked around quickly, but at the side of Gatry Elton she was conscious of a feeling of disappointment that she would not, however, admit. Her greeting of Elton was a trifle forced. Patricia was never frank with herself, if it had been suggested that for a moment she hoped that Lady Tenegra's remark referred to bone, she would instantly have denied it. No, Godfrey, don't look at me like that, cried Lady Tenegra. I'm not so gauche as to arrange a party à trois. I've got someone very nice coming for Patricia. Again, Patricia felt herself thrilled expectantly. Five minutes later, Mr. Tricks was seen sailing along among the tables as if in search of someone. Again, Patricia felt that sense of disappointment had been experienced on the rival of Gatry Elton. Suddenly Mr. Tricks saw the party and streamed towards them, waving his red silk handkerchief in one hand and his umbrella in the other. He has found something better than the fountain of eternal youth, said Elton to Patricia. Whatever it is, he is unconscious of possessing it, replied Patricia as she turned to greet Mr. Tricks. I am late, I know, explained Mr. Tricks as she shook hands. I had to run in as Sieti as I was coming. I had surprised her. And Mr. Tricks chuckled as if at some joke he could not share with the others. Now let us have tea, said Lady Tenegra. I am simply dying for it. Mr. Tricks sang down heavily into a basket chair. He looked about anxiously as it creaked beneath his weight as if in doubt whether a note would bear him. All we want now is Mr. Tricks stopped suddenly and looked apprehensively at Lady Tenegra. What is it you want, Mr. Tricks? inquired Patricia quickly. Um, I, I, I forget, I, I forget, floundered Mr. Tricks, still looking anxiously at Lady Tenegra. When you're in the company of women, Mr. Tricks, you should never appear to want anything else. It makes an unfavorable impression upon us. God bless my soul, I don't! cried Mr. Tricks earnestly. I've been looking forward to this ever since I got to your wire yesterday afternoon. Now he has given me away, cried Lady Tenegra. How like a man! Given you away, my dear, cried Mr. Tricks anxiously. What have I done? Why, you have told these two people here that I made an asignation with you by telegram. Made a what, my dear? inquired Mr. Tricks, his forehead corrugated with anxiety. Lady Tenegra is taking a mean advantage of the heat, Mr. Tricks, said Elton. I'll forgive you anything, Mr. Tricks, as you have come. Mr. Tricks brow-cleared, and he smiled. Come, I should think I would come, he said. Lady Tenegra then explained her meeting with Mr. Tricks and how it's driven to avoid her company at luncheon on the previous day. Mr. Tricks protested vigorously. During the tea, the conversation was entirely in the hands of Lady Tenegra, Elton and Mr. Tricks. Patricia sat silently listening to the others. Several times Lady Tenegra and Mr. Tricks exchanged meaning glances. Why aren't you talking, my dear? Mr. Tricks once asked. I like to hear you all, said Patricia, smiling across at him. You're all too clever for me, she added. Me, clever! cried Mr. Tricks, and then, as if the humour of the thing had suddenly struck him, he went off into gurgles of laughter. You ought to tell Etty that, he splattered. Oh, me, clever! he repeated, and again he went off into ripples of mirth. What are your views on love, Mr. Tricks? demanded Lady Tenegra suddenly. Mr. Tricks gazed at her in surprise. Then he looked from Patricia to Elton, as if not quite sure whether or no he were expected to be serious. If I were you, I should decline to reply. Lady Tenegra treats serious subjects flippantly, said Elton. Her attitude towards life is to prepare a pancake as if it were a souffle. That proves the kelp in me, cried Lady Tenegra. If I were English, I should make a souffle as if it were a pancake. Mr. Tricks looked from one to the other in obvious bewilderment. I'm perfectly serious in my question, said Lady Tenegra, without the vestige of a smile. Mr. Tricks is elemental. To be elemental is to be either indelicate or overbearing, and Mr. Tricks is neither. Love me there? said Mr. Tricks, not in the least understanding the trend of the conversation. I don't think I've got any ideas about it. Surely you're not a cynic, Mr. Tricks, demanded Lady Tenegra. A what? inquired Mr. Tricks. Surely you believe in love? said Lady Tenegra. Me and Mr. Tricks lived together happily for over thirty years, despite gravely. And when a man and woman have lived together for all that time, they get to believe in love. It's never been the same since she died. His voice became a little husky, and Elton looked at Lady Tenegra, who lowered her eyes. I'm sorry, Mr. Tricks. Will you tell us about she broke off? Well, you see, my dear, said Mr. Tricks, in an uncertain voice. When I met her, and she was a servant, but somehow or other it seemed that we were just made for each other. Once I knew her, I didn't seem to be able to see things without her. When I was at work, I was in the building trade, a foreman carpenter, he explained. I used to be thinking of her all the time. If I went anywhere without her, she only had one night off a week and one day a month. I would always keep thinking about what I was seeing or eating. It was a funny feeling, he added, reminiscently, as if entirely unable to explain it. Somehow or other, I always wanted to have her with me, so that she might share what I was having. It was a funny feeling, he repeated, and he looked from one to another with moist eyes. Of course, he added. I can't explain things like that. I'm not clever. I think, Mr. Tricks, in Lady Tenegra broke off and looked at Elton, who was unusually grave. Mr. Tricks has explained it, he replied, in the only way in which it can be explained, and that is by being defined as unexplainable. Mr. Tricks looked at Elton for a moment, then nodded his head violently. That's it, Mr. Elton, that's it. It's a feeling, not a thing that you can put into words. Lady Tenegra looked at Patricia, who was apparently engrossed in the waving tops of the trees. I shall always remember your definition of love, Mr. Tricks, said Lady Tenegra, with a faraway look in her eyes. I think you and Mrs. Tricks must have been very happy together. Happy, my dear? That wasn't the word for it, said Mr. Tricks, and when she was taken, I, I he broke off huskily and blew his nose vigorously. Suppose you were very poor, Mr. Tricks, began Patricia. I was when I married, interrupted Mr. Tricks. Suppose you were very poor, continued Patricia, and you loved someone very rich. What would you do? God bless my soul, I never thought of that. You see, Emily hadn't anything. She only got sixteen pounds a year. Lady Tenegra turned her head aside and blinked her eyes furiously. But suppose, Mr. Tricks, persisted Patricia, suppose you loved someone who was very rich and you were very poor. What would you do? Would you tell them? For a moment Patricia allowed her eyes to glance in the direction of Elton and saw that his gaze was fixed upon Mr. Tricks. But what has money got to do with it? Demanded Mr. Tricks, a puzzled expression on his face. Exactly, said Patricia, that's what I wanted to know. Money sometimes has quite a lot to do with life, remarked Elton to no one in particular. With life, Mr. Elton, said Mr. Tricks, but not with love. You're an idealist, said Lady Tenegra. Am I? said Mr. Tricks with a smile. And he is also a dear, said Patricia. Mr. Tricks looked at her and smiled. Lady Tenegra and Elton drove off, Patricia saying that she wanted to walk. Mr. Tricks also declined Lady Tenegra's offer of a lift. She wanted me to bring her with me, announced Mr. Tricks as they strolled along by the Serpentine. Who did? inquired Patricia. Eti ran up to change her things and send out for a taxi. And what did you say? inquired Patricia. I didn't say anything. But when the taxi came, I just slipped in and came along here. Fancy Eti and Lady Tenegra, said Mr. Tricks. No, he added a moment later. It's no good trying to be what you ain't. If Eti was to remember she's a builder's daughter and not think she's a great lady, she'd be much happier, said Mr. Tricks with unconscious wisdom. Suppose I was to try and be like Mr. Elton, continued Mr. Tricks. I'd look like a fool. We all love to have you just as you are Mr. Tricks and we won't allow you to change, but Mr. Tricks smiled happily. He was as susceptible to flattery as a young girl. Well, it ain't much good trying to be what you're not. I've been a working man and I'm not ashamed of it. And you and Lady Tenegra and Mr. Elton ain't ashamed of being seen with me. But Eti, she'd no more be seen with her old father in Hyde Park than she'd be seen with him in a Turkish bath. We all have our weaknesses, don't you think? said Patricia. And Mr. Tricks agreed. You, for instance, have a weakness for high society, continued Patricia. Me, my dear, exclaimed Mr. Tricks in surprise. Yes, said Patricia, it's no good denying it. Don't you like knowing Lord Peter and Lady Tenegra, Mr. Elton and all the rest of them? It's not because they're in society, began Mr. Tricks. Oh yes it is. You imagine that you're now a very great personage. Soon you'll be moving from Stratham into Park Lane and then you will not know me. Oh, my dear, said Mr. Tricks in distress. It's no good denying it, continued Patricia. Look at the way you made friends with Lord Peter. Patricia was priding herself on the way in which she had led the conversation round to Bowen, but Mr. Tricks was not to be drawn. God bless my soul, he cried, stopping still and removing his hat, mopping his brow vigorously. I don't mind whether anyone has a title or not, it's just them I like. Now look at Lady Tenegra. No one would think she was a lady. Really, Mr. Tricks, I shall tell her if you take her character away in this manner. She's one of the most exquisitely bred people I've ever met. Mr. Tricks looked reproachfully at Patricia. It's a bit odd on a young girl when she finds her father drops his ages, he remarked, reverting to his daughter. I often wonder whether I was right in giving her such an education. She went to an eye-squared ace-mouth, he added. It only made her dissatisfied. It was odd luck her having me for her father. He concluded more to himself than to Patricia. I am perfectly willing to adopt you as a father, Mr. Tricks. If you are in want of adoption, said Patricia. Mr. Tricks turned to her with a sunny smile. Ah, you're different, my dear. You see, you're a lady born same as Lady Tenegra, but as he ain't. That's what makes her sensitive like. It's a funny world, Mr. Tricks continued. If you go about with one boot and you happen to be a duke, people make a fuss of you because you're a character. But if you happen to be a builder and go about in the same way, they call you mad. That evening, Patricia was particularly unresponsive to Mr. Bolton's attempts to engage her in conversation. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of Patricia Brent Spinster This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon. Patricia Brent Spinster by Herbert Jenkins Chapter 16 Patricia's Inconstancy Patricia's engagement and approaching marriage were the sole topics of conversation at Galvin House. At mealtimes in particular, bone was discussed and admired from every angle and aspect. Questions reigned upon Patricia. When was she likely to get married? Where was the wedding to take place? Would she go abroad for her honeymoon? Who was to provide the wedding cake? Where did she propose to get her true soul? Would the king and queen be present at the wedding? At first Patricia had endeavoured to answer coherently, but finding this useless, she soon drifted into the habit of replying at random, with the result that Galvin House received much curious information. Ms. Wengel's Olive Branch was an announcement of how pleased the dear bishop would have been to marry Ms. Brent and Lord Peter had he been alive. Mr. Bolton joked as feebly as ever. Mr. Cordell masticated with his wanted vigor. Mr. Sefton became absorbed in the prospect of the raising of the military age limit and strove to hearten himself by constant references to the time when he would be in khaki. Ms. Sikkim continued to surround herself with an atmosphere of romance and invariably returned in the evening breathless from her chaste endeavours to escape from some awful man who had pursued her. The reek of cooking seemed to become more obvious and the drareness of Sundays more pronounced. Sometimes Patricia thought of leaving Galvin House for a place where she would be less notorious, but some things seemed to bind her to the old associations. As she returned each evening, her eyes instinctively wandered towards the table in the letter rack. If there were a parcel, her heart would bound suddenly, only to resume its normal pace when she discovered that it was for someone else. She saw little. News of Bowen, she received none. Her most dexterous endeavours to cross-examine Mr. Tricks ended in failure. He seemed to have lost all interest in Bowen. Lady Tenegra never even mentioned this name. Whatever the shortcomings for Lady Tenegra and Mr. Tricks in this direction, however, they were more than compensated for by Mrs. Bonser. Her effusive friendliness Patricia found overwhelming and her insistent hospitality which took the form of a flood of invitations for her lunch, dine or to do anything they chose in her house or elsewhere was bewildering. At last in self-defense, Patricia had to tell Mrs. Bonser that Bowen was too much occupied with his duties, even to see her. But this seemed to increase rather than diminish Mrs. Bonser's hospitable instincts which included Lady Tenegra as well as her brother. Would not Miss Brent bring Lady Tenegra to tea or to lunch one day? Perhaps they would take tea with Mrs. Bonser at the Brits one afternoon. To all these invitations Patricia replied with cold civility. In her heart Mrs. Bonser was raging against the airs of her husband's secretary, but she saw that Lady Tenegra and Lord Peter might be extremely useful to her and to her husband in his career. Consequently she did not by any overt sign show her peak. One day when Patricia was taking down letters for Mr. Bonser, Mr. Tricks burst into the library in a state of obvious excitement. He demanded, after having saluted Patricia and Mr. Bonser, Mr. Bonser looked at him reproachfully. Yeah, ring for at the AP. I've got something to show you all. Mr. Bonser pressed the bell. As he did so, Mrs. Bonser entered the room, having heard her father's voice. With great impressment Mr. Tricks produced from the tail pocket of his coat a folded copy of the illustrated universe. Flattening it out upon the table he moistened his thumb and finger and the inspiration turned over several leaves. Then, indicating a page, he demanded What do you think of that? That was a full page picture of Lady Tenegra walking in the park with Mr. Tricks. The portrait of Lady Tenegra was a little indistinct, but that of Mr. Tricks was as clear as daylight and a remarkable likeness. Underneath was printed Lady Tenegra bone and a friend walking in the park. Mrs. Bonser devoured the picture with a new respect in her eyes. What do you think of it, Eddie? inquired Mr. Tricks again. It's a very good likeness, father, said Mrs. Bonser weakly. It was Patricia, however, who expressed what Mr. Tricks had anticipated. You're becoming a great personage, Mr. Tricks, she cried. If you're not careful, you will compromise Lady Tenegra. Mr. Tricks chuckled with glee as he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. I rang her up this morning, he said. Ring who up, father? inquired Mrs. Bonser. Lady Tenegra said Mr. Tricks, watching his daughter to see the effect of the diminutive upon her. Was she annoyed? inquired Mrs. Bonser. Annoyed, echoed Mr. Tricks. Annoyed. She was that pleased. She's asked me to lunch tomorrow. Why, she introduced me to a duchess last week and I'm going to her place a tea. I wish she would bring Lady Tenegra here one day, father? said Mrs. Bonser. Why not ask her to lunch here tomorrow? Not me yet, he said Mr. Tricks wisely. If you want the big fish, you've got to go out and catch them yourself. There was a pause. Patricia hid a smile in her handkerchief. Mr. Bonser was deep in his speech upon the question of rationing fish. Well, A. B., what have you got to say? Dear fish may mean revolution, murmured Mr. Bonser. Mr. Tricks looked at his son-in-law in amazement. What's that you say? He demanded. I beg your pardon. I was thinking. Apologised Mr. Bonser. Now, father, said Mrs. Bonser, will you come into the morning-room? I want to talk to you and I'm sure Arthur wants to get on with his work. Mr. Tricks was reluctantly led away, leaving Patricia to continue the day's work. Patricia now saw little of Mr. Tricks. In fact, since Lady Tenegra had announced that Bone would no longer trouble her, she found life had become singularly grey. Things that before had amused and interested her now seemed dull and tedious. Mr. Bolton's jokes were more obvious than ever, and Mr. Coral's manners more detestable. The constant integrations levelled at her as to where Bone was and why he had not called to see her, she found difficult to answer. Several times she had gone alone to the theatre or to a cinema in order that it might be thought she was with Bone. At last the strain became so intolerable that she spoke to Mrs. Grask Molten, hinting that unless Galvin House took a little less interest in her affairs she would have to leave. The effect of her words was instantly manifest. Wherever she moved she seemed to interrupt whispering groups. When she entered the dining-room there would be a sudden cessation of conversation and everyone would look up with an innocence that was too obvious to deceive even themselves. If she went to the lounge on her return from Eaton Square the same effect was noticeable. When she was present the conversation was false and artificial. Sentences would be begun and left unfinished as if the speaker had suddenly remembered that the subject was taboo. Patricia found herself wishing that they would speak out who was in their minds. Anything would be preferable to the air of mystery that seemed to pervade the whole place. She could not be unaware of the significant glances that were exchanged when it was thought she was not looking. Several times she had been asked if she were not feeling well and her looking glass reflected a face that was pale and drawn with dark lines under the eyes. One evening when she had gone to a room directly after dinner there was a gentle knock at her door. She opened it to find Mrs. Hamilton looking as if it would take only a word to send her creeping away again. Come in you dear little grey lady cried Patricia putting her arm affectionately around Mrs. Hamilton's small shoulders and leading her over the basket chair by the window. For some time they talked of nothing in particular. At last Mrs. Hamilton said I hope you won't think me impertinent my dear but I should never think anything you said or did impertinent, said Patricia, smiling. You know began Mrs. Hamilton and then broke off. Anyone would think you were thoroughly afraid of me, said Patricia with a smile. I don't like interfering, said Mrs. Hamilton, but I'm very worried. She looked so pathetic in her anxiety that Patricia bent down and kissed her on the cheek. You dear little thing, she cried, tell me what is on your mind and I will do the best I can to help you. I am very worried about you my dear, began Mrs. Hamilton hesitatingly. You are looking so pale and worn. I fear you have something on your mind and she broke off, words failing her. It's the summer, replied Patricia, smiling. I always find the hot weather trying more trying even than Mr. Bolton's jokes she smiled. Are you sure it's nothing else? said Mrs. Hamilton. Quite sure, said Patricia what else should it be? She was conscious of her reddening cheeks. You ought to go out more, said Mrs. Hamilton gently. After sitting indoors all day you want fresh air and exercise. And with that Mrs. Hamilton had to rest content. Patricia could not explain the absurd feeling she experienced that she might miss something if she left the house. It was all so vague, so intangible. All she was conscious of was some hidden force that seemed to bind her to the house or when by an effort of will she broke from its influence seemed to draw her back again. She could not analyse the feeling she was only conscious of its existence. From its brand she had to receive the characteristic reply to her letter. Dear Patricia she wrote I've read with pain and surprise your letter what your poor dear father would have thought I cannot conceive what I did was done for the best motives as I felt you were compromising yourself by a secret engagement I'm sorry to find you've become exceedingly self-willed of late and I fear London has done you no good. As your soul's surviving relative it is my duty to look after your welfare. This I promised your dear father on his deathbed Gratitude I do not ask nor do I expect it but I am determined to do my duty by my brother's child I cannot but deplore the tone in which you last wrote to me and also the rather foolish threat that your letter contained. Your affectionate aunt Adelaide rent. P.S. I shall make a point of coming up to London soon even your rudeness will not prevent me from doing my duties by my brother's child A.B. As she tore up the letter Patricia remembered her father once saying your aunt's sense of duty is the most offensive sense I've ever encountered. One day as Patricia was endeavouring to sort out into some sort of coherence a sheave of notes that Mr. Bonser had made upon botulism Mr. Tricks entered the library after his cheery How goes it, my dear? He stood for some moments gazing down at her solicitously You ain't looking well, my dear who said with conviction That's a sure way to owe one's heart replied Patricia gaily How's that, my dear? he questioned Why, telling her that she's looking plain retorted to Patricia All I want is a holiday went on Patricia There are only three weeks to wait, and then There was, however, no joy of anticipation in her voice You are frightened Patricia turned angrily upon Mr. Tricks Fratting? What on earth do you mean, Mr. Tricks? she demanded Mr. Tricks sat down suddenly overwhelmed by Patricia's indignation Don't be cross with me, my dear Mr. Tricks looked so like a child from a rebuke that she was forced to smile You must not say absurd things then she retorted What have I got to fret about? Mr. Tricks quailed beneath her challenging glance I'm sorry, my dear he said contritely Don't be sorry, Mr. Tricks Sir Patricia, severely be accurate I'm sorry, my dear repeated, Mr. Tricks But that doesn't answer my question Patricia persisted What have I to fret about? Mr. Tricks mobbed his brow vigorously He invariably expressed his emotions with his handkerchief He used it strategically, tactically defensively, continuously It was to him what the lines of Thors Verdrass were to Wellington He retired behind its sheltering folds to emerge a moment later his forces reorganized and re-arrayed When at a loss what to say or do it was his handkerchief upon which he fell back If he required time in which to think he did it behind its ample and protecting folds You see, my dear said Mr. Tricks at length avoiding Patricia's relentless gaze as he proceeded to stuff away the handkerchief in his tail-pocket You see, my dear again he paused You see, my dear he began for a third time I thought you was threatened over your work or something when you ought to be enjoying yourself Patricia looked at him her conscience smiting her She smiled involuntarily I never fret about anything except when you don't come to see me, she said gaily Mr. Tricks beamed with good humour His fears now quite dispelled You run down, my dear he said with the decision You want an holiday I must speak to A.B. about it If you do I shall be very angry said Patricia Mr. Bonser is always very kind and considerate It it isn't began Mr. Tricks then paused It isn't what Patricia smiled at his look of concern If it is began Mr. Tricks again he paused then added with a gulp Couldn't I lend you some? For a moment Patricia failed to follow the drift of his remark then when she appreciated that he was offering to lend her money she flushed Then seeing the anxiety stamped upon his kindly face she said great deliberation I think you must be quite the nicest man in all the world If ever I decide to borrow money I'll come to you first Mr. Tricks blushed like a schoolboy He had fully anticipated being snubbed He had found from experience that Patricia had of late become very uncertain in her moods They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Bonser Ear A.B. cried Mr. Tricks What do you mean by it? Mean by what? inquired Mr. Bonser busy with an imaginary speech upon street noises suggested by a barrel piano in the distance You're working her too hard A.B. said Mr. Tricks with conviction Working Hugh too hard Mr. Bonser looked helplessly at Patricia He was always at a disadvantage with his father-in-law whose bluntness of speech seemed to demoralize him Mr. Tricks thinks that you're slowly killing me, laughed Patricia Mr. Bonser looked uncertainly at Patricia and Mr. Tricks gazed at Mr. Bonser He had no very high opinion of his daughter's husband Well, mind you don't overwork her said Mr. Tricks as he rose to go A few minutes later Patricia was deep in the absorbing subject of the life-history of the potato beetle Augh! she cried as the clock in the hall chimed five I hate beetles and she paused a moment away a stray strand of hair I never want to see a potato as long as I live That evening when she reached Galvin House she went to her room and there subjected herself to a searching examination in the looking-glass She was forced to confess to the pylons of her face and dark marks beneath her eyes She explained them by summer in London coupled with adrariness of Arthur Bonser and P. and his mania for statistics You're a human yeast, Patricia She murmured to her reflection At least you're paid two and a half guineas a week to try to leaven the unleavenable and you mustn't complain if sometimes you get a little tired fretting There was indignation in her voice What have you got to fret about? With a passage of each day however she grew more listless and wary She came to dread mealtimes with their irritating chatter an uninspiring array of faces that she had come almost a dislike She was conscious of whisperings and significant looks among her fellow-borders She resented even Gustave's cow-like gaze of sympathetic anxiety as she declined the food he offered her Lady Tenegra and Missatrix never asked her out Everybody seemed suddenly to have deserted her Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of them in the park on Sunday morning once she saw bone but he did not see her The daily round and common task took on a new and sinister meaning for her Sometimes her thoughts would travel on a few years into the future What did it hold for her? Instinctively, she shuddered at the loneliness of it all One afternoon on a return to Galvin House Gustave opened the door He had evidently been on the watch His kindly face was beaming with good will Oh, Miss, he cried Miss Bernd is here Aren't Elle late? cried Patricia, her heart sinking Then, seeing the comical look of undecision upon Gustave's face caused by her despairing exclamation she laughed When she entered the lounge it was to find Miss Bernd sitting upright upon the stiffest chair in the middle of the room Miss Wengle and Mrs. Moskrup-Smith were seated together in the extreme corner Mrs. Barnes and two or three others were grouped by the window The atmosphere was tense Something had apparently happened Patricia learned that from the grim set of Miss Bernd's mouth I want to talk to you, Patricia Miss Bernd announced after the customary greeting Yes, aren't Elle late? said Patricia, sinking into a chair with a sigh of resignation Somewhere private, said Miss Bernd There is no privacy at Galvin House murmured Patricia except in the bathroom Patricia, don't be indelicate snapped Miss Bernd I'm not indelicate, aren't Elle late I'm merely being indelicate I'm merely being accurate said Patricia, warily Cannot we go to your room inquired Miss Bernd Hey, impossible, announced Patricia It's like an oven by now The sun is on it all the afternoon Besides, continued Patricia My affairs are public property here We are quite a commune We have everything in common except our toothbrushes Well, let us get over there Miss Bernd rose and made for the corner farthest from Miss Wengel and Mrs. Moskrup's smith Patricia followed her warily I've just snapped those two women announced Miss Bernd as she seated herself in a basket chair that squeaked protestingly There were indications of electricity in the air remarked Patricia calmly I want to have a serious talk with you, Patricia said Miss Bernd, in her best It's my duty, costed, what it may matter How can anyone be serious in this heat, protested Patricia I owe it to your poor dear father to this deser and creditor business is killing romance, murmured Patricia I have your welfare to consider, proceeded Miss Bernd I don't you think you've done enough Miss Chief already aren't at a late, inquired Patricia coolly Miss Chief, I, exclaimed Miss Bernd in astonishment Patricia nodded As your soul surviving relative it is my duty Don't you think, interrupted Patricia that just for once you could neglect your duty sin is wonderfully exhilarating Patricia almost shrieked Miss Bernd horror in her eyes Are you mad? No replied Patricia only little wary You must have a tonic, announced Miss Bernd Patricia shut it She still remembered her childish sufferings resulting from Miss Bernd's interpretation and application of the doctor at home She was convinced that she'd swallowed every remedy the book contained and been rubbed with every liniment its pages revealed No aren't at a late she said evenly All I require is that you should seize interfering in my affairs There you, how Miss Bernd paused, wordless I'm prepared to accept you as an aren't, continued Patricia outwardly calm but almost stifled by the pounding of her heart It's God's will but if you persist in assuming the mantle of Mrs. Grundy combined with the infallibility of the Pope then I must protest Protest, repeated Miss Bernd repeating the word as if not fully comprehending its meaning If I am able to earn my own living then I am able to conduct my own love affairs But, began Miss Bernd I'm sorry to appear rude aren't at a late, but it is much better to be frank I'm sure you mean well but the fact of you being my soul surviving relative places me at a disadvantage If there were two of you or three you could quarrel about me and thus preserve the balance Now, let us talk about something else For once in her life Miss Bernd was nonplussed She regarded her niece as if she'd been a two-tailed giraffe or a double-headed musselon Had she been American she would have known it to be brainstorm As it was, she decided that Patricia was sickening for some serious illness that had produced a temperature In all her experience of the family, never once had Miss Bernd been openly defied in this way and she had no reserves upon which to fall back She held personal opinion and inclination must always take secondary place to the family The individual must be sacrificed to the group whether the individual were not herself Births, death, marriages crestings, funerals weddings were solemn functions that must be regarded as involving not the principles themselves so much as their relatives Her doctrine was, although she would not have expressed it so philosophically that the individual is mortal but the family is immortal That anyone lived for himself or herself never seemed to occur to Miss Bernd If their actions were acceptable to the family and at the same time pleased the principles then so much the better for the principles If, on the other hand, the family disapproved then the duty of the principles was clear This open flouting of her prides and her prejudices was to Miss Bernd a great blow It seemed to stun her She was at a loss how to proceed All she realized was that she must save the family at any cost Now tell me what happened when you came in, Patricia sweetly I must be going, said Miss Bernd solemnly Must you, inquired Patricia politely but rising lest her aunt should change her mind Now remember, said Patricia as they walked along the hall You've lost me one matrimonial fish If I get another nibble you must keep out of But Miss Bernd had fled Well, that's that sighed Patricia as she walked slowly upstairs End of chapter 16