Patricia looked up. This was the first time Bowen had used the diminutive of her name. Somehow it sounded very intimate. "I am afraid I have an--an----" The hesitation was her undoing. "No; don't tell me fibs, please. You will dine with me and then, afterwards, we will go on and see the mater. She is dying to know you." How boyish and lover-like Bowen was in spite of his twenty-eight years, and--and--how different everything might have been if---- Patricia was awakened from her thoughts by hearing Bowen say: "Shall I pick you up here in the car?" "No, I--I've just told you I am engaged," she said. "And I've just told you that I won't allow you to be engaged to anyone but me," was Bowen's answer. "If you won't come and dine with me I'll come and play my hooter outside Galvin House until they send you out to get rid of me. You know, Patricia, I'm an awful fellow when I've set my mind on anything, and I'm simply determined to marry you whether you like it or not." "Very well, I will dine with you to-night at half-past seven." "I'll pick you up at Galvin House at a quarter-past seven with the car." "Very well," said Patricia wearily. It seemed ridiculous to try and fight against her fate, and at the back of her mind she had a plan of action, which she meant to put into operation. "Now I must get back to my work. Good-bye." Bowen opened the door of the morning-room. Mrs. Bonsor was in the hall. Patricia walked over to the library, leaving Bowen in Mrs. Bonsor's clutches. "Oh, Lord Peter!" Mrs. Bonsor gushed. "I hope you and Miss Brent will dine with us----" Patricia shut the library door without waiting to hear Bowen's reply. At five o'clock she gave up the unequal struggle with infant mortality statistics and walked listlessly across the Park to Galvin House. She was tired and dispirited. It was the weather, she told herself, London in June could be very trying, then there had been all that fuss over _The Morning Post_ announcement. At Galvin House she knew the same ordeal was awaiting her that she had passed through at Eaton Square. Mrs. Craske-Morton would be effusive, Miss Wangle would unbend, Miss Sikkum would simper, Mr. Bolton would be facetious, and all the others would be exactly what they had been all their lives, only a little more so as a result of _The Morning Post_ paragraph. Only the fact of Miss Wangle taking breakfast in bed had saved Patricia from the ordeal at breakfast. Miss Wangle was the only resident at Galvin House who regularly took _The Morning Post_, it being "the dear bishop's favourite paper." Arrived at Galvin House Patricia went straight to her room. Dashing past Gustave, who greeted her with "Oh, mees!" struggling at the same time to extract from his pocket a newspaper. Patricia felt that she should scream. Had everyone in Galvin House bought a copy of that day's _Morning Post_, and would they all bring it out of their pockets and point out the passage to her? She sighed wearily.