"Yes, we must dance again soon," agreed Patricia.
"But how soon?" asked Monty. "Next week? To-morrow?—Monday?"
He was not at all urgent: his tone was gentle, almost caressing.
"Tuesday," suggested Patricia.
He bowed his head. Jacky had approached; and they both ignored him. He was the unnecessary third to their conversation. And Patricia had the feeling of danger. She was charmed and flattered. She suddenly felt that Monty was not the Pasha of her moment's invention, but that he was as sleek and perhaps as treacherous as a collie; and a recklessness seized her at the knowledge that behind his charm there might lie something that threatened all peace. If Harry had not been dismissed the charm might have been neutralised. Harry was gone. She had nothing but her own pleasure to think of, nothing but sensation and the confusion of the future.
Their farewells were said. With Jacky, Patricia was upon the way from the house. She still carried with her the sensation of having been enveloped by something as light as a mist. She was pleased and excited.