said, surveying
herself in the glass as she fastened a bunch of red carnations in her
belt. "White at the wrists and on the hat, yes, it looks most
improper. I wonder what the major-man will think?"

Swift movements, deft touches, earnest scrutiny followed one another.
Patricia was an artist in dress. Finally, when her gold wristlet watch
had been fastened over a white glove she subjected herself to a final
and exhaustive examination.

"Now, Patricia!"--it had become with her a habit to address her
reflection in the mirror--"shall we carry an umbrella, or shall we
not?" For a few moments she regarded herself quizzically, then finally
announced, "No: we will not. An umbrella suggests a bus, or the tube,
and when a girl goes out with a major in the British Army, she goes in
a taxi. No, we will not carry an umbrella."

She still lingered in front of the mirror, looking at herself with
obvious approval.

"Yes, Patricia! you are looking quite nice. Your eyes are violeter,
your hair more sunsetty and your lips redder than usual, and, yes, your
face generally looks happier."

When she entered the lounge it was twenty minutes to eight and,
although dinner was at seven-thirty, the room was full. Everybody
stared at her as with flushed cheeks she walked to the centre of the
room. Then suddenly turning to Miss Wangle, she said, "Do you think I
shall do, Miss Wangle, or do I look too wicked for a major?"

Miss Wangle merely stared. Mrs. Hamilton smiled and Mrs.
Mosscrop-Smythe looked sympathetically at Miss Wangle. Mr. Bolton
laughed.

"I wish I was a major, Miss Brent," he remarked, at which Patricia
turned to him and made an elaborate curtsy.

"That girl will come to a bad end," remarked Miss Wangle with
conviction to Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, as with a smile over her shoulder
Patricia made a dramatic exit. She had noticed, however, that Miss
Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe were in hats and jackets. They, too,
were apparently going out, although she had not heard them tell Mrs.
Craske-Morton so. Mr. Bolton also had his hat in his hand. During the
day Patricia had thought out very carefully the part she had set
herself to play. If she were going to meet her fiance back from the
Front, she must appear radiantly happy, vide conventional opinion. But
she had admonished her reflection in the mirror, "You mustn't overdo
it. Women, especially tabbies, are very acute."

It had been Patricia's intention to go by