Patricia paused for a moment outside the door of the lounge. She put her cool hands to her hot cheeks, wondering why her heart should show so little regard for her feelings. She felt an impulse to run away and lock herself in her own room and cry "Go away!" to anyone who might knock. She strove to work herself into a state of anger with Bowen for daring to come an hour before the time appointed. As she entered the lounge, Bowen sprang up and came towards her. There was a spirit of boyish mischief lurking in his eyes. "I suppose," said Patricia as they shook hands, "you think this is very clever." "Please, Patricia, don't bully me." Patricia laughed in spite of herself at the humility and appeal in his voice. She was conscious that she was not behaving as she ought, or had intended to behave. "It seems an age since I saw you," he continued. "Forty-eight hours, to be exact," commented Patricia, forgetful of all the reproachful things she had intended to say. "You got the flowers?" as his eye fell on the carnations which Gustave had placed in a large bowl. "Yes, thank you very much indeed, they're exquisite. They made Miss Sikkum quite envious." "Who's Miss Sikkum?" "Time, in all probability, will show," replied Patricia, seating herself on a settee. Bowen drew up a chair and sat opposite to her. She liked him for that. Had he sat beside her, she told herself, she would have hated him. "You're not angry with me, Patricia, are you?" There was an anxious note in his voice. "Do you appreciate that you've made me extremely ridiculous with your telegrams, messenger-boys, conservatories, and confectioner's-shops? Why did you do it?" "I don't know," he confessed with unconscious gaucherie, "I simply couldn't get you out of my thoughts." "Which shows that you tried," commented Patricia, the lightness of her words contradicted by the blush that accompanied them. "The King's Regulations do not provide for Patricias," he replied, "and I had to try. That is how I knew." "Do you think I'm a cormorant, as well as an abandoned person?" she demanded. "A cormorant?" queried Bowen, ignoring the second question. "I don't understand." "Within twenty-four hours you have sent me enough chocolates to last for a couple of months." "Poor Patricia!" he laughed. "You mustn't call me Patricia, Colonel Bowen," she said primly. "What will people think?" "What would they think if they heard the man you're engaged to call you Miss Brent?" "We are not engaged," said Patricia hotly. "We are," his eyes smiled into hers. "I can bring all these people here to prove it on your own statement." She bit her Up. "Are you going to be mean? Are you going to play the game?" She awaited his reply with an anxiety she strove to disguise. Bowen looked straight into her eyes until they fell beneath his gaze. "I'm afraid I've got to be mean, Patricia," he said quietly. "May we smoke?"