's announcement had been
startling, that upon the rest of the company was galvanic. Each felt
aggrieved that proper notice had not been given of so auspicious an
event. There was a general feeling of resentment against Patricia for
not having told them that she expected Bowen to call.

There were covert glances at their garments by the ladies, and among
the men a consciousness that the clothes they were wearing were not
those they had upstairs.

Miss Sikkum's playful fancy was with the Brixton "Paris model," which
only that day she had taken to the cleaners; Miss Wangle was conscious
that she had not hung herself with her full equipment of chains and
accoutrements; Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe thought regretfully of the pale
blue evening-gown upstairs, a garment that had followed the course of
fashion for nearly a quarter of a century. Mr. Bolton had doubts about
his collar and his boots, whilst Mr. Cordal, with the aid of his napkin
and some water from a drinking glass, strove to remove from his
waistcoat reminiscences of bygone repasts.

The other members of the company all had something to regret. Mr.
Archibald Sefton, whose occupation was a secret between himself and
Providence, was dubious about the creases in his trousers; Mrs. Barnes
wondered if the gallant colonel would discover the ink she had that day
applied to the seams of her dress. Everyone was constrained and
anxious to get to his or to her room for repairs.

"Did you know Colonel Bowen was coming?" enquired Mrs. Craske-Morton,
quite at her ease in the knowledge that "something had told her" to put
on her best black silk and the large cameo pendant that made her look
like a wine-steward at a fashionable restaurant.

"He said he might drop in; but he's so casual that I didn't think it
worth mentioning," said Patricia, conscious that the reply was
unanimously regarded as unconvincing.

Having finished her coffee Patricia rose in a leisurely manner. She
was no sooner out of the door than a veritable stampede ensued. Every
one intended "just to slip upstairs for a moment," and each glared at
the other on discovering that all seemed inspired by the same idea.

Mrs. Craske-Morton went to her "boudoir" out of tactful consideration
for the young lovers; Mrs. Hamilton went up to the drawing-room for the
same reason.

Patricia paused for a moment outside the door of the lounge. She put
her cool hands to her hot cheeks, wondering why her heart should show