Neither spoke again, and a few minutes later the cab drew up at her uncle’s door. He sprang out first and offered her his aid, but she gathered up her dress with both hands and ignored him. At the door she fitted the latchkey into the lock herself. While she fumbled a little in the dim light, she felt his eyes again fixed on her, and before she managed to get the door open he said, in low, distinct tones, “The new interest you have given me is growing apace, Patricia. I see it is going to be war to the knife, but, if I’m worth my name, I’ll win yet.” “Good-night,” she said jauntily, as the door at last opened, then slammed it in his face. CHAPTER XXXIII Patricia the Great. It would be difficult to say when the awakening first came to Lawrence. Before it came he felt it growing every day. After it came, it seemed to have been there all along. At first he blinded himself with the belief that he was only piqued. That it would on the whole be entertaining to break down her defences and subdue her. He was grateful to her for giving him even that much new interest in life. Afterward he faced the situation with entire honesty. He admitted frankly to himself that he loved her, and he knew, without going any further, that it was the love of his life. All the past peccadilloes, entanglements, fancies, were nothing—were mere episodes—nothing seemed real any longer except that he loved Paddy Adair. He, the graceful _dilettante_, the highly eligible society man, the casual, cynical scholar—she, the harum-scarum tom-boy, the fearless Irish romp—“Paddy-the-next-best-thing.” When the awakening had come, and he faced the facts squarely, he believed he had loved her ever since the night of the Omeath dance, when, in his den, she had flung defiance at him, and marched off with her head in the air, in lofty disdain. He reviewed what had transpired between them since, and; his thoughts were gloomy enough. Most emphatically the defiance and the disdain were still the dominant notes she was at no further pains now, than then, to hide her contempt. He knew that since the night of Gwen’s dance she had resorted to strategy to avoid him. Since his mother and Kathleen returned home there had been much sight-seeing and entertaining, and Paddy was continually requisitioned. Yet she contrived to turn up on the occasions when he had another engagement, and remain absent when he made a victim of himself for the express purpose of seeing her. Even at a second dance she had outwitted him. “Lawrence will take you home,” Doreen had said in his presence, and Paddy had politely replied: “Thank you.” Yet when he sought her neat the end of the evening, it was to find she had already gone—undoubtedly missing two dances rather than accept his escort. The third time, however, he was one too many for her. He watched from a safe vantage ground until he saw her give a quiet glance round, and then surreptitiously slip away. Instantly he accosted Doreen.