e's disposal was
never more than an agreeable minor feature of Patricia's entourage
whenever, as was very often, Colonel Musgrave fell to thinking of how
adorable Patricia was in every particular.

Yet there were times when he thought of Anne Charteris as well. He had
not seen her for a whole year now, for the Charterises had left
Lichfield shortly after the Pendomer divorce case had been settled, and
were still in Europe.

This was the evening during which Roger Stapylton had favorably received
his declaration; and Colonel Musgrave was remembering the time that he
and Anne had last spoken with a semblance of intimacy--that caustic
time when Anne Charteris had interrupted him in high words with her
husband, and circumstances had afforded to Rudolph Musgrave no choice
save to confess, to this too-perfect woman, of all created beings, his
"true relations" with Clarice Pendomer.

Even as yet the bitterness of that humiliation was not savorless....

It seemed to him that he could never bear to think of the night when
Anne had heard his stammerings through, and had merely listened, and in
listening had been unreasonably beautiful. So Godiva might have looked
on Peeping Tom, with more of wonder than of loathing, just at first....

It had been very hard to bear. But it seemed necessary. The truth would
have hurt Anne too much....

He noted with the gusto of a connoisseur how neatly the denouement of
this piteous farce had been prepared. His rage with Charteris; Anne's
overhearing, and misinterpretation of, a dozen angry words; that old
affair with Clarice--immediately before her marriage (one of how many
pleasurable gallantries? the colonel idly wondered, and regretted that
he had no Leporello to keep them catalogued for consultation)--and
George Pendomer's long-smoldering jealousy of Rudolph Musgrave: all
fitted in as neatly as the bits of a puzzle.

It had been the simplest matter in the world to shield John Charteris.
Yet, the colonel wished he could be sure it was an unadulterated desire
of protecting Anne which had moved him. There had been very certainly an
enjoyment all the while in reflecting how nobly Rudolph Musgrave was
behaving for the sake of "the only woman he had ever loved." Yes, one
had undoubtedly phrased it thus--then, and until the time one met
Patricia.

But Anne was different, and in the nature of things must always be a
little different, from all other people--even Patricia Stapylton.

Always