"It's nothing of the sort," Bowen declared, tilting up her chin and gazing down into her eyes. "But you haven't answered my question."
"Well!" continued Patricia, speaking slowly, "when you sent me flowers and messengers and telegraph-boys and things I was angry, and then when you didn't I——" she paused.
"Wanted them," he suggested.
"U-m-m-m!" she nodded her head. "I suppose so," she conceded. "But," she added with a sudden change of mood, "I shall always be dreadfully afraid of Peel. He seems so perfect."
Bowen laughed. "I'll try and balance matters," he said.
"But you haven't told me," said Patricia, "why you left me alone all at once. Why did you?" She looked up enquiringly at him.
During the next half an hour Patricia slowly drew from Bowen the whole story of the plot engineered by Lady Tanagra.
"But why," questioned Patricia, "were you going away if you knew that—that everything would come all right?"
"I had given up hope, and I couldn't break my promise to Tan. I convinced myself that you didn't care."
Patricia held out her hand with a smile. Bowen bent and kissed it.