"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 Miss Brent she had received a characteristic reply to her letter. "DEAR PATRICIA," she wrote, "I have read with pain and surprise your letter. What your poor dear father would have thought I cannot conceive. "What I did was done from the best motives, as I felt you were compromising yourself by a secret engagement. "I am sorry to find that you have become exceedingly self-willed of late, and I fear London has done you no good. "As your sole surviving relative, it is my duty to look after your welfare. This I promised your dear father on his death-bed. "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 BRENT. "P.S.--I shall make a point of coming up to London soon. Even your rudeness will not prevent me from doing my duty 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 have ever encountered." One day as Patricia was endeavouring to sort out into some sort of coherence a sheaf of notes that Mr. Bonsor had made upon Botulism, Mr. Triggs entered the library. After his cheery "How goes it, me dear?" he stood for some moments gazing down at her solicitously. "You ain't lookin' well, me dear," he said with conviction. "That's a sure way to a woman's heart," replied Patricia gaily. "'Ow's that, me dear?" he questioned. "Why, telling her that she's looking plain," retorted Patricia. Mr. Triggs protested. "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're frettin'!" Patricia turned angrily upon Mr. Triggs. "Fretting! What on earth do you mean, Mr. Triggs?" she demanded. Mr. Triggs sat down suddenly, overwhelmed by Patricia's indignation. "Don't be cross with me, me dear." Mr. Triggs looked so like a child fearing rebuke that she was forced to smile. "You must not say absurd things then," she retorted. "What have I got to fret about?"