"Lady Peter Bowen," corrected Mrs. Craske-Morton with superior knowledge. "Lady Peter," gushed Miss Sikkum. "Oh how romantic, and I shall see your portrait in _The Mirror_. Oh! Miss Brent, aren't you happy?" Patricia smiled across at Miss Sikkum, whose enthusiasm was too genuine to cause offence. "And you'll have cars and all sorts of things," remarked Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, thinking of he solitary blue evening frock, "he's very rich." "Worth ten thousand a year," almost shouted Mr. Cordal, striving to regain control over a piece of lettuce-leaf that fluttered from his lips, and having eventually to use his fingers. "You'll forget all about us," said Miss Pilkington, who in her capacity as a post-office supervisor daily showed her contempt for the public whose servant she was. "If you're nice to her," said Mr. Bolton, "she may buy her stamps at your place." Again Mrs. Craske-Morton's "Really, Mr. Bolton!" eased the situation. Patricia was for the most part silent. She was thinking of the coming talk with Bowen. In spite of herself she was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. Miss Wangle also said little. From time to time she glanced in Patricia's direction. "The Wangle's off her feed," whispered Mr. Bolton to Miss Sikkum, producing from her a giggle and an "Oh! Mr. Bolton, you _are_ dreadful." Mrs. Barnes was worrying as to whether a lord should be addressed as "my lord" or "sir," and if you curtsied to him, and if so how you did it with rheumatism in the knee. Patricia noticed with amusement the new deference with which everyone treated her. Mrs. Craske-Morton, in particular, was most solicitous that she should make a good meal. Miss Wangle's silence was in itself a tribute. Patricia nervously waited the moment when Bowen's presence should be announced. When the time came Gustave rose to the occasion magnificently. Throwing open the dining-room door impressively and speaking with great distinctness he cried: "Ees Lordship is 'ere, mees," and then after a moment's pause he added, "'E 'as brought 'is car, mees. It is at the door." Patricia smiled in spite of herself at Gustave's earnestness. "Very well, Gustave, say I will not be a moment," she replied and, with a muttered apology to Mrs. Craske-Morton, she left the table and the dining-room, conscious of the dramatic tension of the situation. Patricia ran down the passage leading to the lounge, then, suddenly remembering that haste and happiness were not in keeping with anger and reproach, entered the lounge with a sedateness that even Aunt Adelaide could not have found lacking in maidenly decorum. Bowen came across from the window and took both her hands. "Why was she allowing him to do this?" she asked herself. "Why did she not reproach him, why did she thrill at his touch, why----?" She withdrew her hands sharply, looked up at him and then for no reason at all laughed.