The constant interrogations levelled at her as to where Bowen 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 Bowen. At last the strain became so intolerable that she spoke to Mrs. Craske-Morton, 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 into the lounge on her return from Eaton Square, the same effect was noticeable. When she was present the conversation was forced 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 what 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 her 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 round Mrs. Hamilton's small shoulders, and leading her over to a basket-chair by the window. For some time they talked of nothing in particular. At last Mrs. Hamilton said: "I--I hope you won't think me impertinent, my dear; but--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 am 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--er--worried about you, my dear," began Mrs. Hamilton hesitatingly. "You are looking so pale and tired and worn. I--I fear you have something on your mind and--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--are you sure it's nothing else?" said Mrs. Hamilton.