If she let Peter go? A year hence, a month perhaps, she might have lost him. Of what use would her pride be then? She had not known before; but now she knew how much Peter meant to her. Since he had come into her life everything had changed, and she had grown discontented with the things that, hitherto, she had tacitly accepted as her portion. "You're fretting, me dear!" Mr. Triggs's remark came back to her. She recalled how indignant she had been. Why? Because it was true. She had been cross. She remembered the old man's anxiety lest he had offended her. She almost smiled as she recalled his clumsy effort to explain away his remark. She had heard someone knock gently at her door, once, twice, three times. She made no response. Then Gustave's voice whispered, "Tea is served in the looaunge, mees." She heard him creep away with clumsy stealth. There was a sweet-natured creature. He could never disguise an emotion. He had come upstairs during the raid, though in obvious terror, in order to save her. Mr. Triggs, Gustave, Elton, all were against her. She knew that in some subtle way they were working to fight _her_ pride. For some time longer she lay, then suddenly she sprang up. First she bathed her face, then undid her hair, finally she changed her frock and powdered her nose. "Hurry up, Patricia! or you may think better of it," she cried to her reflection in the glass. "This is a race with spinsterhood." Going downstairs quietly she went to the telephone. "Gerrard 60000," she called, conscious that both her voice and her knees were unsteady. After what seemed an age there came the reply, "Quadrant Hotel." "Is Lord Peter Bowen in?" she enquired. "Thank you," she added in response to the clerk's promise to enquire. Her hand was shaking. She almost dropped the receiver. He must be out, she told herself, after what seemed to her an age of waiting. If he were in they would have found him. Perhaps he had already started for---- "Who is that?" It was Bowen's voice. Patricia felt she could sing. So he had not gone! Would her knees play her false and cheat her? "It's--it's me," she said, regardless of grammar. "That's delightful; but who is me?" came the response. No wonder woman liked him if he spoke like that to them, she decided. Suddenly she realised that even she herself could not recognise as her own the voice with which she was speaking. "Patricia," she said. "Patricia!" There was astonishment, almost incredulity in his voice. So Elton had said nothing. "Where are you? Can I see you?" Patricia felt her cheeks burn at the eagerness of his tone. "I'm--I'm going out. I--I'll call for you if you like," she stammered. "I say, how ripping of you. Come in a taxi or shall I come and fetch you?"