ii
"I say!" exclaimed Harry. "This is superb, you know!" He was looking at her brilliant dress, upon which nobody had thought to make any comment on the previous evening. "I've never seen anything to beat it." The dress was quite plain; but the taste which had planned it was manifest. Both the material from which it was made and the delicate silk with which its adornments had been fashioned were sun-coloured. Every light made it richer, more simple, more effective. He was full of admiration. Patricia was rewarded. She knew now that she had thought of Harry all the time she had been employed in the long task of preparing the dress. She made no reply. He resumed impetuously: "I could have murdered that girl of yours the other night. Somehow I'd reckoned on finding you at home."
"I was at Amy's."
"Oh!" He was astonished. "I almost went on to her."
"Monty and Jack Penton were there, too. They came in after dinner."
Harry frowned. It was his turn to do so. But it was not a very serious frown, as Patricia, glancing side-ways, could see.
"Oh, the old fat man!" he lightly commented. "I don't know Penton. I mean, I've met him, but I can't remember him."
"Did you go and see Mr. Mayne?"
Harry shook his head.
"No. I wasn't serious. One can't push one's self." His teeth showed, not in a smile, but as if in some habitual expression. "He's not my sort."
"He's very kind."
Harry laughed.
"Exactly," he said. His eyes were upon her, so eager as to be devouring. "You know, I'm most awfully glad you could come to-night. I've got all sorts of things to tell you."
"I wish," murmured Patricia, "I wish you'd tell me why men have to leave their overcoats at the door of a restaurant."
His voice was lowered. His eyes roved for an instant.
"It's so that they can cut a figure," he explained. "A man in his overcoat—oh, a sorry sight. A woman—it's so different. She's got to keep her shoulders warm. She's got to show her furs to everybody. By the way, where are yours?"
Patricia regretfully shook her head.
"You have to imagine them," she ventured.
"They're the finest here," Harry assured her. "It's all simply a question of decoration. And also, no doubt, of tips. You see, a woman is entertained."
"I never understand why that is," cried Patricia. "I'd far rather always pay for myself. I do, as a rule."
"Not with me," said Harry, with a sudden firmness which she admired. "You don't want to with me, do you?" He was confident; but he spoke truly. She had no will to flout him.
A shyness fell upon them. They ate for a moment in silence. After all, they did not know each other very well; and it may have occurred to each that part of the lightness of the conversation was due to a kind of defiance of constraint. Their moods, however, were in harmony; as was testified by the exchanged smile which succeeded the silence.
"Are you a good dancer?" demanded Patricia. Harry laughed again.
"I didn't bring my testimonials," he answered. "Did you?"
"I brought my shoes." She was quite ready for him. "If you're a bad dancer I shall be shocked."
"You needn't worry," said Harry, calmly. "The question is, can you dance?"
Patricia thought: How splendid! How splendid! Her glance was roguish and evasive, so perfect did the understanding between them appear to be. Aloud, she very demurely responded:
"We'd better both hope for the best, hadn't we? It's no good meeting trouble half-way."