"I see we're interrupted." Patricia took two or three steps towards the door. She was still in a state of suppressed excitement, and was half blind with the continued emotional tension. "Mrs. Tallentyre," she said, impulsively. "Monty didn't quite mean his proposal of marriage; but if he had meant it I shouldn't have ... taken it seriously. How d'you do?"
For the first time Blanche took notice of Patricia. She turned her eyes from Monty and looked from Patricia's head to her feet, as if with intent deliberately to ignore her. When she spoke again her eyes were averted.
"What are you doing here?" she asked coldly. She was imperious, like a mistress who has discovered a servant in the act of prying.
"Monty has a party," answer Patricia, trying to control her excitement and to speak in an ordinary tone. "But I don't understand what.... What is it to do with you?" In spite of her effort, and perhaps because of it, she found herself trembling with anger. "I don't understand you."
Blanche sneered. A look of contempt passed across her face. The bitter, anxious eyes darted at Patricia a quick glance of scorn.
"You're impertinent!" she cried, and was again as if frozen.
"No, Blanche. This is really intolerable, you know," put in Monty, anger in his own contemptuous tone. "We're not at the Lyceum now. Patricia is here as my guest."
"And you are proposing to her. I interrupted you. I'm sorry." Blanche gave a brusque laugh. But she did not move from her position at the door.
"And now I'm going," said Patricia. She made as if to do so, but looked from one to the other of them in uncertainty that was not without indignation. Her heart was fluttering.