"Why was she allowing him to do this?" she asked herself. "Why did she not reproach him, why did she thrill at his touch, why——?"
She withdrew her hands sharply, looked up at him and then for no reason at all laughed.
How absurd it all was. It was easy to be angry with him when he was at the Quadrant and she at Galvin House; but with him before her, looking down at her with eyes that were smilingly confident and gravely deferential by turn, she found her anger and good resolutions disappear.
"I know you are going to bully me, Patricia." Bowen's eyes smiled; but there was in his voice a note of enquiry.
"Oh! please let us escape before the others come in sight," said Patricia, looking over her shoulder anxiously. "They'll all be out in a moment. I left them straining at their leashes and swallowing scalding coffee so as to get a glimpse of a real, live lord at close quarters."
As she spoke Patricia stabbed on a toque.
"Shall I want anything warmer than this?" she enquired as Bowen helped her into a long fur-trimmed coat.
"I brought a big fur coat for you in case it gets cold," he replied, and he held open the door for her to pass.
"Quick," she whispered, "they're coming."
As she ran down the steps she nodded brightly to Gustave, who stood almost bowed down with the burden of his respect for an English lord.