so little regard for her feelings. She felt an impulse to run away and
lock herself in her own room and cry "Go away!" to anyone who might
knock. She strove to work herself into a state of anger with Bowen for
daring to come an hour before the time appointed.

As she entered the lounge, Bowen sprang up and came towards her. There
was a spirit of boyish mischief lurking in his eyes.

"I suppose," said Patricia as they shook hands, "you think this is very
clever."

"Please, Patricia, don't bully me."

Patricia laughed in spite of herself at the humility and appeal in his
voice. She was conscious that she was not behaving as she ought, or
had intended to behave.

"It seems an age since I saw you," he continued.

"Forty-eight hours, to be exact," commented Patricia, forgetful of all
the reproachful things she had intended to say.

"You got the flowers?" as his eye fell on the carnations which Gustave
had placed in a large bowl.

"Yes, thank you very much indeed, they're exquisite. They made Miss
Sikkum quite envious."

"Who's Miss Sikkum?"

"Time, in all probability, will show," replied Patricia, seating
herself on a settee. Bowen drew up a chair and sat opposite to her.
She liked him for that. Had he sat beside her, she told herself, she
would have hated him.

"You're not angry with me, Patricia, are you?" There was an anxious
note in his voice.

"Do you appreciate that you've made me extremely ridiculous with your
telegrams, messenger-boys, conservatories, and confectioner's-shops?
Why did you do it?"

"I don't know," he confessed with unconscious gaucherie, "I simply
couldn't get you out of my thoughts."

"Which shows that you tried," commented Patricia, the lightness of her
words contradicted by the blush that accompanied them.

"The King's Regulations do not provide for Patricias," he replied, "and
I had to try. That is how I knew."

"Do you think I'm a cormorant, as well as an abandoned person?" she
demanded.

"A cormorant?" queried Bowen, ignoring the second question. "I don't
understand."

"Within twenty-four hours you have sent me enough chocolates to last
for a couple of months."

"Poor Patricia!" he laughed.

"You mustn't call me Patricia, Colonel Bowen," she said primly. "What
will people think?"

"What would they think if they heard the man you're engaged to call you
Miss Brent?"

"We are not engaged," said Patricia hotly.

"We are," his eyes smiled into hers. "I can