Patricia remembered, and her face changed. The flowers faded, the chocolates lost their sweetness and the smile vanished. The parted lips set in a firm but mobile line. What had before been a tribute now became in her eyes an insult. Men sent chocolates and flowers to – to "those women"! If he respected her he would have done as she commanded him, instead of which he had sent her presents. Oh! it was intolerable.
"If I sent flowers and chocolates to a lady friend," said Mr. Bolton, "I should expect her to look happier than you do, Miss Brent."
With an effort Patricia gathered herself together and with a forced smile replied, "Ah! Mr. Bolton, but you are different," which seemed to please Mr. Bolton mightily.
She was conscious that everyone was looking at her in surprise not unmixed with disapproval. She was aware that her attitude was not the conventional pose of the happily-engaged girl. The situation was strange. Even Mr. Cordal was bestowing upon her a portion of his attention. It is true that he was eating curry with a spoon, which required less accuracy than something necessitating a knife and fork; still at meal times it was unusual of him to be conscious even of the existence of his fellow-boarders.
It was Gustave who relieved the situation by handing to Patricia a telegram on the little tray where the silver had long since given up the unequal struggle with the base metal beneath. Patricia with assumed indifference laid it beside her plate.
"The boy ees waiting, mees," insinuated Gustave.
Patricia tore open the envelope and read: "May I come and see you this evening dont say no peter."
Patricia was conscious of her flushed face and she felt irritated at her own weakness. With a murmured apology to Mrs. Morton she rose from the table and went into the lounge where she wrote the reply: "Regret impossible remember your promise," then she paused. She did not want to sign her full name, she could not sign her Christian name she decided, so she compromised by using initials only, "P.B." She took the telegram to the door herself, knowing that otherwise poor Gustave's life would be a misery at the hands of Miss Wangle, Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe and the others.
"Why had she given the boy sixpence?" she asked herself as she slowly returned to the dining-room. Telegraph boys were paid. It was ridiculous to tip them, especially when they brought undesirable messages. "Was the message undesirable?" someone within seemed to question. Of course it was, and she was very angry with Bowen for not doing as she had commanded him.
When Patricia returned to the table and proceeded with the meal, she was conscious of the atmosphere of expectancy around her. Everybody wanted to know what was in the telegram.
At last Miss Wangle enquired, "No bad news I hope, Miss Brent."
Patricia looked up and fixed Miss Wangle with a deliberate stare, which she meant to be rude.
"None, Miss Wangle, thank you," she replied coldly.
The dinner proceeded until the sweet was being served, when Gustave approached her once more.
"You are wanted, mees, on the telephone, please," he said.
Patricia was conscious once more of crimsoning as she turned to Gustave. "Please say that I'm engaged," she said.
Gustave left the dining-room. Everybody watched the door in a fever of expectancy.
Two minutes later Gustave reappeared and, walking softly up to Patricia's chair, whispered in a voice that could be clearly heard by everyone, "It ees Colonel Baun, mees. He wish to speak to you."
"Tell him I'm at dinner," replied Patricia calmly. She could literally hear the gasp that went round the table.
"But, Miss Brent," began Mrs. Craske-Morton.
Patricia turned and looked straight into Mrs. Craske-Morton's eyes interrogatingly. Gustave hesitated. Mrs. Craske-Morton collapsed. Miss Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe exchanged meaning glances. Little Mrs. Hamilton looked concerned, almost a little sad. Patricia turned to Gustave.
"You heard, Gustave?"
"Yes, mees," replied Gustave and, turning reluctantly towards the door, he disappeared.
There was something in Patricia's demeanour that made it clear she would resent any comment on her action, and the meal continued in silence. Mr. Bolton made some feeble endeavours to lighten the atmosphere; but he was not successful.
In the lounge a quarter of an hour later, Gustave once more approached Patricia, this time with a note.
"The boy ees waiting, mees," he announced.
Patricia tore open the envelope and read:
"DEAR PATRICIA,
"Won't you let me see you? Please remember that even the under-dog has his rights.
"Yours ever, "PETER."
"There is no answer, Gustave," said Patricia, and Gustave left the room disconsolately.
Half an hour later Gustave returned once more.
On his tray were three telegrams. Patricia looked about her wildly. "Had the man suddenly gone mad?" she asked herself. "Tell the boy not to wait, Gustave," she said.
"There ees three boys, mees."
The atmosphere was electrical. Mr. Bolton laughed, then stopped suddenly. Miss Sikkum simpered.
Patricia turned to Gustave with a calmness that was not reflected in her cheeks.
"Tell the three boys not to wait, Gustave."
"Yes, mees!" Gustave slowly walked to the door. It was clear that he could not reconcile with his standard of ethics the allowing of three telegrams to remain unopened, and to dismiss three boys without knowing whether or no there really were replies. The same feeling was reflected in the faces of Patricia's fellow-boarders.
"Miss Brent must be losing a lot of relatives, or coming into a lot of fortunes," remarked Mr. Bolton to Mrs. Hamilton.
Patricia preserved an outward calm she was far from feeling. She rose and went up to her room to discover from the three orange envelopes what was the latest phase of Colonel Bowen's madness. Seated on her bed she opened the telegrams.
The first read:
"Will you go motoring with me on Sunday peter."
No, she would do nothing of the kind.
The second said:
"If I have done anything to offend you please tell me and forgive me peter."
Of course he had done nothing, and it was all very absurd. Why was he behaving like a schoolboy?
The third was longer. It ran:
"I so enjoyed last night it was the most delightful evening I have spent for many a day please do not be too hard upon me peter."
This was a tactical error. It brought back to Patricia the whole incident. It was utter folly to have placed herself in such an impossible position. Obviously Bowen knew nothing of women, or he would not have made such a blunder as to remind her of what took place on the previous night, unless – unless – She hardly dare breathe the thought to herself. What if he thought her different from what she actually was? Could he confuse
