vii
Harry entered the studio with impetuosity, and his height and energy made it a normal-sized room. He made no pretence of having come to see Amy, but as soon as he caught sight of Patricia he addressed her.
"I thought I might find you here," he said, and stopped. His eyes embraced her, and Patricia's heart leapt. Then, uncontrollably, she turned away while Harry looked at Amy. "Sorry to be unceremonious; but I'd been to Patricia's," he said cheerfully. "Found she was out. How are you, Amy? I hear you've been having a fracas with old Felix. Poor old Felix! I wonder how he's feeling now, eh? Jolly rough on him—what? Now I want to get hold of Patricia, because we're going to a football match on Saturday, and didn't fix up a time of meeting. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all!" said Amy, sarcastically. "Ignore me. Use my studio as your own. Interrupt a conversation with the greatest assurance——"
"Thanks," answered Harry, not troubling to be polite. "I will." His blue eyes had their steel; and his cheerful face its grimness. "Now, Patricia...."
"Now, Harry." Patricia was recovering her nerve. At his insincerity, his rudeness to Amy, her spirits had risen. Whatever secret weaknesses her will might hint, she was sparkling with temper. He had entered a bully; well, she would not be bullied. She saw the difference of his demeanour to Amy, whom he disliked, and to herself, whom he loved. For how long would his behaviour remain different? In Jean Cowley's case it had been a month. "Now, Harry," said Patricia.
Harry's manner softened. His tone was lowered. His possessiveness was subtly mingled with appeal. He took a step forward, a big figure with bared teeth and that ready smile. There was no doubt of the effect he had on Patricia. She felt herself small, weak, laughing.... And yet not now yielding. A day ago she would have been yielding, tasting all the sweetness of surrender to such masterful treatment.
"Put your coat on," pleaded Harry. He wore none himself. "I want you to come and have a meal with me."
"It's barely tea-time," objected Patricia.
"All the better. We'll have tea and dinner as well."
They both ignored Amy, who stood angrily staring at them.
"Why should she?" cried Amy. "What cheek!"
Harry turned upon Amy, and laughed at her.
"Hullo, Amy!" he answered. "You there? Sorry. Look here, I know it's cheek; and I apologise. But I must talk to Patricia, d'you see. Our last talk was interrupted."
"Patricia's talks seem to be subject to interruption. Her talk with me was interrupted."
"I know. By me," Harry said, charmingly. "It's too bad."
Patricia was mechanically putting on her mackintosh as they squabbled. She smoothed her hair; and a curious excitement which had risen in her was transformed into intrepidity. So may a man in danger become aware of new alert vitality. She heard the remarks without observing their content, so engrossed was she with thoughts of her own.
"How's Rhoda?" asked Amy suddenly. It came like a stab, and like a stab was Patricia's glance at Harry. His own glance towards her was as sharp, as keen.
"Very well, I think," said Harry, in a patient voice.
"She's away, isn't she?"
"I really don't know."
Amy again gave that strained laugh of sarcasm.
"Oho!" she laughed. "Harry!"
Harry held out his hand to Amy, seeing that Patricia was ready. Amy ignored the hand. She never shook hands with anybody. It had always seemed to her more masculine and professional not to do so.
"You ready?" Harry asked Patricia.
"Awkward questions," murmured Amy, almost unheard. "Well, cheerio, Patricia. Perhaps one day we shall meet again. I shall be here, I expect."
"Do try to go away," whispered Patricia. "Really try. It's so bad for you to be alone." Harry was outside the door by now, and the parting was solitary. "Try to go away—just for change of thought and scene."
Amy shook her head—almost with a shudder.
"Now go," she said. "Harry's waiting. And Patricia—what I told you was true. D'you see? Not spiteful."
"I know. I know." Patricia pressed her hand and was gone.