When about half-way up the long room, just past the bandstand, the terrible thought came to her of a possible humiliating retreat. What was she to do? Why was she there? What were her plans? She looked about her, hoping that she did not appear so frightened as she felt. She was conscious of the gaze of a man seated at a table a few yards off. He was fair and in khaki. That was all she knew. Yes, he was looking at her intently. "No, that table won't do! It is too near to the band." It was Miss Wangle's voice behind her. Without a moment's hesitation her sub-conscious self once more took possession of Patricia, and she marched straight up to the fair-haired man in khaki and in a voice loud enough for Miss Wangle and her party to hear cried: "Hullo! so here you are, I thought I should never find you." Then as he rose she murmured under her breath, "Please play up to me, I'm in an awful hole. I'll explain presently." Without a moment's hesitation the man replied, "You're very late. I waited for you a long time outside, then I gave you up." With a look of gratitude and a sigh of content, Patricia sank down into the chair a waiter had placed for her. If there had been no chair, she would have fallen to the floor, her legs refusing further to support her body. She was trembling all over. Miss Wangle had selected the next table. Patricia was conscious of hoping that somewhere in the next world Miss Wangle's sufferings would transcend those of Dives as a hundred to one. As she was pulling off her gloves her companion held a low-toned colloquy with the waiter. She stole a glance at him. What must he be thinking? How had he classified her? Her heart was pounding against her ribs as if determined to burst through. Suddenly she remembered that the others were watching and, leaning upon the table, she said: "Please pretend to be very pleased to see me. We must talk a lot. You know--you know--" then she turned aside in confusion; but with an effort she said, "You--you are supposed to be my fiancé, and you've just come back from France, and--and---- Oh! what are you thinking of me? Please--please----" she broke off. Very gravely and with smiling eyes he replied, "I quite understand. Please don't worry. Something has happened, and if I can do anything to help, you have only to tell me. My name is Bowen, and I'm just back from France." "Are you a major?" enquired Patricia, to whom stars and crowns meant nothing. "I'm afraid I'm a lieutenant-colonel," he replied, "on the Staff." "Oh! what a pity," said Patricia, "I said you were a major." "Couldn't you say I've been promoted?"