"And she was right, me dear," said Mr. Triggs huskily, "she was right as she always was, only she didn't know that there couldn't ever be anyone after 'er."
Slowly and tactfully Patricia guided the old man's thoughts away from the sad subject of his wife's death, and soon had him laughing gaily at some stories she had heard the night previously from the Bowens. Mr. Triggs was as easily diverted from sadness to laughter as a child.
It was half-past seven when they left the Park gates, and Patricia, looking suddenly at her wristlet watch, cried out, "Oh! I shall be late for dinner, I must fly!"
"You're going to dine with me, me dear," announced Mr. Triggs.
"Oh, but I can't," said Patricia; "I—I——"
"Why can't you?"
"Well, I haven't told Mrs. Craske-Morton."
"Who's she?" enquired Mr. Triggs.
"Of course it doesn't matter, how stupid of me," said Patricia; "I should love to dine with you, Mr. Triggs, if you will let me."
"That's all right," said Mr. Triggs, heaving a sigh of relief.