How absurd it all was. It was easy to be angry with him when he was at the Quadrant and she at Galvin House; but with him before her, looking down at her with eyes that were smilingly confident and gravely deferential by turn, she found her anger and good resolutions disappear. "I know you are going to bully me, Patricia." Bowen's eyes smiled; but there was in his voice a note of enquiry. "Oh! please let us escape before the others come in sight," said Patricia, looking over her shoulder anxiously. "They'll all be out in a moment. I left them straining at their leashes and swallowing scalding coffee so as to get a glimpse of a real, live lord at close quarters." As she spoke Patricia stabbed on a toque. "Shall I want anything warmer than this?" she enquired as Bowen helped her into a long fur-trimmed coat. "I brought a big fur coat for you in case it gets cold," he replied, and he held open the door for her to pass. "Quick," she whispered, "they're coming." As she ran down the steps she nodded brightly to Gustave, who stood almost bowed down with the burden of his respect for an English lord. As Bowen swung the car round, Patricia was conscious that at the drawing-room and lounge windows Galvin House was heavily massed. Unable to find a space, Miss Sikkum and Mr. Bolton had come out on to the doorstep and, as the car jerked forward, Miss Sikkum waved her pocket handkerchief. Patricia shuddered. For some time they were silent. Patricia was content to enjoy the unaccustomed sense of swift movement coupled with the feeling of the luxury of a Rolls Royce. From time to time Bowen glanced at her and smiled, and she was conscious of returning the smile, although in the light of what she intended to say she felt that smiles were not appropriate. The car sped along the Bayswater Road, threaded its way through Hammersmith Broadway and passed over the bridge, across Barnes Common into Priory Lane, and finally into Richmond Park. Bowen had not mentioned where he intended to take her, and Patricia was glad. She was essentially feminine, and liked having things decided for her, the more so as she invariably had to decide for herself. Half-way across the Park Bowen turned in the direction of Kingston Gate and, a minute later, drew up just off the roadway. Having stopped the engine he turned to her. "Now, Patricia," he said with a smile, "I am at your mercy. There is no one within hail." Bowen's voice recalled her from dreamland. She was thinking how different everything might have been, but for that unfortunate unconvention. With an effort she came down to earth to find Bowen smiling into her eyes. It was an effort for her to assume the indignation she had previously felt. Bowen's presence seemed to dissipate her anger. Why had she not written to him instead of endeavouring to express verbally what she knew she would fail to convey? "Please don't be too hard on me, Patricia," pleaded Bowen.