did work we were
sure, until Peter shook his head at the signal of our raised eyebrows.
"Nothing has happened in the Grayles-Grice," his expression said; so the
only hope left was the Wilmot. Anything that might take place there was
of secondary importance, still, indirectly, a break there might bring
relief to the other forces engaged. Instead of stopping downstairs to
let the world admire my Paris frock, and listen to the music (not just
nice little music for nice little minds, but something really good and
suited to the scenery), I bolted my dinner and dashed up to Patsey's
room.

A knock brought no answer, but when I called, "May I come in?" Patsey
unlocked the door. You know how, when I want to get things out of
people, I disguise myself with a spaniel smile and spaniel eyes? Well, I
did that with Pat. There was just enough light in the room for her to
see my spanielness, for she'd done away with all but one small
reading-lamp, with a depressing green shade. She was in her kimono,
with her hair down, looking an ideal Ophelia. Not that Ophelia sported a
kimono; but you know the effect I mean, all masses of wavy tresses round
a small white face, and eyes very big and wistful. She wasn't going to
tell me a thing, but my spanielhood melted her.

It was perfectly true, as Peter had warned me: nothing had happened in
the car; but the night before in Flirtation Walk Caspian had tried to
kiss the girl! He had wanted to before, when he gave her the ring; she
had refused, explaining that the Marquise had told her she was not to be
kissed before marriage. He hadn't persisted then, but last night he had
been _horrid_. She would not have gone for the walk if he hadn't asked
her before Larry, and Larry had seemed to want her to go. Perhaps it was
only that she might be near, and protect him from Mrs. Shuster; but
Idonia could have done that. Anyhow, Pat and "Mr. Caspian" (she would
not call him "Ed") had got separated from the others. She had struggled,
but he had succeeded in kissing her ear, and she had boxed his! "It
can't be exactly wicked to marry for money," sighed Pat. "It's too
disagreeable. And wicked things are always nice--in books. Oh, Molly, it
will be awful to marry _him_. Already he tries to make me do what he
likes. He puts himself in front of me and all r-round me like a bar-rbed
wire fence. I don't know how to bear it. I am a broken girl!"

[Illustration: DELAWARE WATER GAP "The mountains seem cleft in twain.