icia leaned forward and smiled. "Aunt Adelaide, you are singularly
discriminating to-day. She is a liar, and she also happens to be a
cat."

Miss Brent appeared not to hear Patricia's remark. She was occupied
with her own thoughts. She possessed a masculine habit of thinking
before she spoke, and in consequence she was as devoid of impulse and
spontaneity as a snail.

Patricia watched her aunt covertly, her mind working furiously. What
could it mean? Lord Peter Bowen! Miss Wangle was not given to making
mistakes in which the aristocracy were concerned. At Galvin House she
was the recognised authority upon anything and everything concerned
with royalty and the titled and landed gentry. County families were
her hobbies and the peerage her obsession. It would be just like
Peter, thought Patricia, to turn out a lord, just the ridiculous,
inconsequent sort of thing he would delight in. She was unconscious of
any incongruity in thinking of him as Peter. It seemed the natural
thing to do.

She saw by the signs on her aunt's face that she was nearing a
decision. Conscious that she must not burn her boats, Patricia burst
in upon Miss Brent's thoughts with a suddenness that startled her.

"If Miss Wangle desires to discuss my friends with you in future, Aunt
Adelaide, I think she should adopt the names by which they prefer to be
known."

Patricia watched the surprised look upon her aunt's face, and with
dignity met the keen hawk-like glance that flashed from her eyes.

"If, for reasons of his own," continued Patricia, "a man chooses to
drop his title in favour of his rank in the army, that I think is a
matter for him to decide, and not one that requires discussion at Miss
Wangle's hands."

Miss Brent's stare convinced Patricia that she was carrying things off
rather well.

"Patricia, where did you meet this Colonel Peter Bowen?"

The question came like a thunder-clap to Patricia's unprepared ears.
All her self-complacency of a moment before now deserted her.

She felt her face crimsoning. How she envied girls who did not blush.
What on earth could she tell her aunt? Why had an undiscriminating
Providence given her an Aunt Adelaide at all? Why had it not bestowed
this inestimable treasure upon someone more deserving? What could she
say? As well think of lying to Rhadamanthus as to Miss Brent. Then
Patricia had an inspiration. She would tell her aunt the truth,
trusting to her not to believe it.