iv
Patricia liked Jacky. Although silly and lacking in brains, he was very honest and very good-natured. When she said to him that she was out of sorts, and wanted to be quiet, he did not become fussy, and he did not sulk. He did naturally what was the best thing to do in the circumstances. When he thought of anything to say he said it, in his queer unlettered English; and when he had nothing at all to say, he cheerfully allowed himself to be silent. There was no difficulty at all. Patricia, although she was in such a state of advanced conceit, had one sweep of comprehension; and she was touched to the point of moist eyes and an ejaculation.
"You are a sport, Jacky!" she said, impetuously.
Jacky glowed. The colour came creeping up from behind his tall collar, and he jerked his neck out of the collar with a nervous movement, as of one whose throat has suddenly become swollen.
"Er ... Quite all right," he said, in his jargon. "Cheers; and all that...."
No more was said. They ploughed a way unsuccessfully through an ill-cooked meal, of which the major part was encased in thicknesses of flour and water which had been very severely fried.
"Er ... saw old Harry," presently said Jacky. "Last night—yesterday—I forget. He ... thought you were away, or something. Thought you'd forgotten our evening. Jolly glad you turned up. Er.... Must have been your...."
"He's not coming, is he?" Patricia's head was down. She was struggling to remain composed. That was what this meant: wherever she went she would see Harry, would hear of him. And she knew she wanted to see him, wanted to hear of him. It was the strangest sensation. Harry to her was become a stranger; she realised that she knew nothing and always had known nothing of his heart. But all the time she was deeply concerned with him. He was a stranger; but he was the only stranger she knew in that vast crowd of strangers. Patricia awaited Jacky's answer with dread.
"I forget what he said," answered Jacky, slowly and vaguely. "No, I don't think he could come. The old fellow was ... er ... some jolly old thing or other. I quite forget."
Patricia nodded. She must accustom herself to all this sort of thing. She had only to be firm when they met—firm and friendly (ah! how easy to contemplate; how hard to execute!), and all would settle itself. It was not like.... Oh, how silly life was! thought Patricia. Her eyelids fluttered. How alone she felt! Sometimes it seemed to her that with all these friends she had no friend. What was the cause? Was it in herself? Impossible! She said that last word aloud.
"Pardon?" asked Jacky, only half hearing Patricia's exclamation.
Patricia laughed at his surprised face.
"Only talking to myself," she assured him. "What's the time?"
"Have a Kümmel," urged Jacky. "Cures anything." His own face was irradiated with a cheerful and meaningless smile. Patricia's heart sank. He was one of her friends. She was torn between shame for him, shame of herself for thinking shame of him, and a sense of superiority to her contemporaries.