"Well, A. B., what 'ave you got to say?"
"Dear fish may mean revolution," murmured Mr. Bonsor.
Mr. Triggs looked at his son-in-law in amazement.
"What's that you say?" he demanded.
"I—I beg your pardon. I—I was thinking," apologised Mr. Bonsor.
"Now, father," said Mrs. Bonsor, "will you come into the morning-room? I want to talk to you, and I'm sure Arthur wants to get on with his work."
Mr. Triggs was reluctantly led away, leaving Patricia to continue the day's work.
Patricia now saw little of Mr. Triggs, in fact since Lady Tanagra had announced that Bowen would no longer trouble her, she found life had become singularly grey. Things that before had amused and interested her now seemed dull and tedious. Mr. Bolton's jokes were more obvious than ever, and Mr. Cordal's manners more detestable.
The constant interrogations levelled at her as to where Bowen was, and why he had not called to see her, she found difficult to answer. Several times she had gone alone to the theatre, or to a cinema, in order that it might be thought she was with Bowen. At last the strain became so intolerable that she spoke to Mrs. Craske-Morton, hinting that unless Galvin House took a little less interest in her affairs, she would have to leave.
The effect of her words was instantly manifest. Wherever she moved she seemed to interrupt whispering groups. When she entered the dining-room there would be a sudden cessation of conversation, and everyone would look up with an innocence that was too obvious to deceive even themselves. If she went into the lounge on her return from Eaton Square, the same effect was noticeable. When she was present the conversation was forced and artificial. Sentences would be begun and left unfinished, as if the speaker had suddenly remembered that the subject was taboo.