Bellerophon_.

Suddenly she had an idea. It synchronised with the entry of Gustave,
who stood just inside the door smiling inanely.

"Call a taxi for Colonel Bowen, please, Gustave," she said coolly.

Gustave looked surprised, the group looked disappointed, Bowen looked
at Patricia with a puzzled expression.

"I'm sorry you're in a hurry," said Patricia, holding out her hand to
Bowen. "I'm busy also."

"But----" began Bowen.

"Oh! don't trouble." Patricia advanced, and he had perforce to retreat
towards the door. "See you again sometime. Good-bye," and Bowen found
himself in the hall.

"Damn!" he muttered.

"Sir?" interrogated Gustave anxiously.

As Bowen was replying to Gustave in coin, Mrs. Craske-Morton appeared
at the head of the stairs on her way down to the lounge after her
tactful absence. For a moment she hesitated in obvious surprise, then,
with the air of a would-be traveller who hears the guard's whistle, she
threw dignity aside and made for Bowen.

"Colonel Bowen?" she interrogated anxiously.

Bowen turned and bowed.

"I am Mrs. Craske-Morton. Miss Brent did not tell me that you were
making so short a call, or I would----" Mrs. Craske-Morton's pause
implied that nothing would have prevented her from hurrying down.

"You are very kind," murmured Bowen absently, not yet recovered from
his unceremonious dismissal. He was brought back to realities by Mrs.
Craske-Morton expressing a hope that he would give her the pleasure of
dining at Galvin House one evening. "Shall we say Friday?" she
continued without allowing Bowen time to reply, "and we will keep it as
a delightful surprise for Miss Brent." Mrs. Craske-Morton exposed her
teeth and felt romantic.

When Bowen left Galvin House that evening he was pledged to give
Patricia "a delightful surprise" on the following Friday.

"That will teach them to pity me!" murmured Patricia that night as she
brushed her hair with what seemed entirely unnecessary vigour. She was
conscious that she was the best-hated girl in Bayswater, as she
recalled the angry and reproachful looks directed towards her by her
fellow-guests after Bowen's departure.

In an adjoining room Miss Wangle, a black cap upon her head, was also
engaged in brushing her hair with a gentleness foreign to most of her
actions.

"The cat!" she murmured as she lay it in its drawer, and then as she
locked the drawer she repeated, "The cat!"

CHAPTER VI

THE INTERVENTIO