"Do you think I would marry——?" Patricia broke off suddenly in confusion.
"But why——?" began Bowen.
"If ever I meet Lady Meyfield I shall tell her exactly how I—I—met you," said Patricia with ecision.
"Well, tell her then," said Bowen good-humouredly. "She has a real sense of humour."
The moment Bowen had uttered the words he saw his mistake. Patricia drew herself up coldly.
"It was rather funny, wasn't it?" she said evenly; "but mothers do not encourage their sons to develop such acquaintances. Now shall we talk about something else?"
"But my mother wants to meet you," protested Bowen. "She——"
"Tell her the story of our acquaintance," replied Patricia coldly. "I think that will effectually overcome her wish to know me. Ah! here we are," she concluded as the taxi drew up at Galvin House. With a short "good night!" Patricia walked up the steps, leaving Bowen conscious that he had once more said the wrong thing.
That night, as Patricia prepared for bed, she mentally contrasted the Bowens' social sphere with that of Galvin House and she shuddered for the third time that evening.
"Patricia Brent," she apostrophised her reflection in the mirror. "You're a fool! and you have not even the saving grace of being an old fool. High Society has turned your giddy young head," and with a laugh that sounded hard even to her own ears, she got into bed and switched off the light.