But the letters were gone, and from the window she saw the postman trudging far down the drive. Should she race and overtake him? She could just do it.
Pride held her back, and she stood debating till it was too late. No chance now! "Oh well, it must go," she said recklessly.
It went, and later in the day she would have given much to recall it. She began to realise what Rob really was to her, how much more than either of her two former fiancés, whom she had discarded as easily as one discards old gloves. What if he should take her at her word? She grew cold at the thought. Then she tried to forget him in renewed attention to the charade costumes.
[CHAPTER XXVIII]
WOULD SHE GIVE IN?
TWO nights passed, and the early post brought no letter from Robert. Patricia might have heard, possibly, the evening before. She had felt secure of a reply, at latest, this morning, giving in to her demand. When Rob knew all that hung on his decision—and she had put it plainly—he could not hesitate.
Since no word arrived, she began to realise that it meant his coming down to speak. So much the better! She believed in personal power. To travel from London, and to return in the same day, meant a rush; but it could be done.
She knew at what hour to expect him, if he followed this plan; and as it drew near she was rather surprised at various heart-flutterings and nervous dreads. What if he should walk in, merely to announce that he had no intention of yielding.
But the idea was absurd. Rob had more sense!
She put on one of her prettiest frocks, arranged her hair with extra attention, and then busied herself with preparations for the charade—still keeping watch on the clock.