"I'm sorry, Patricia," Monty said, harshly. "I beg your pardon. It was too much for me." The two of them turned away from each other, Monty breathing rapidly, Patricia still almost stifled. "Did I hurt you? Poor child! I was brutal. I'm sorry...."
With her heart seeming to beat in her throat, Patricia nodded slowly.
"My fault," she said, indistinctly. "I ought...."
Both, if it had not been for breathlessness and dishevelment, were treating the situation with strange coolness, as if all heat had evaporated from it. Patricia had no fear. She knew that the embrace could not be repeated. It was as though the fire which had burned in Monty had been extinguished. He stood before her, recovering his normal address, the heaviness gone from his face, and the fury from his eyes. Already he was slipping back into that slow thick courtesy of manner which had been so attractive. Quite soon he would be debonair, perfectly at ease. And she herself, incapable of thought, and in a state of physical agitation though she was, became apparently composed. But even as Patricia felt this, she was overcome by deadly sickness. Her pallor was increased. She groped her way to the fireplace, resting her head against the cool mantelpiece in an effort to recover. And as she stood thus, only half-conscious, there came a sound which made Monty start. He gave an exclamation, and turned quickly. At first his hands went to his neck, instinctively to the spot where he might bear marks of the struggle. Then, from a sharp glance, with similar intent, at Patricia, he discovered her fainting condition.
"Good God, you're ill!" he cried. "That's the bell. They'll be coming now. Drink this. For God's sake don't let them see...."
As he spoke he moved quickly across the studio to a cupboard, from which he produced and brought to her side a decanter and glass. Again Patricia nodded, taking the glass from his hand, and sitting once more upon her low chair, and drinking the brandy. It made her cough. In the midst of her coughing the studio door opened and a merry group of newcomers, all peeping and laughing, appeared without.
They gave universal shouts of greeting, and proclaimed envy of anybody caught with a brandy-glass in her hand, and made general uproar. And in doing so the crowd pushed its way into the studio and its members scattered.
"Hul-lo!" they jovially cried. "Caught you, Patricia! Leading an inebriate's life, I see.... Greedy! Oh!"
Patricia, laughing, waved the glass in acknowledgment; but it was poor laughter, and was fortunately unheard amid the louder noises of the careless people who had brought their own gaiety.