she saw him, for his sartorial
ideas were not those of Mayfair. He leaned towards checks, rather loud
checks, trousers that were tight about the calf, and a coat that was a
sporting conception of the morning coat, with a large flapped pocket on
either side. He invariably wore a red tie and an enormous watch-chain
across his prosperous-looking figure. His hat was a high felt, an
affair that seemed to have set out in life with the ambition of being a
top hat, but losing heart had compromised.

If Mrs. Bonsor dreaded her father's visits, Patricia welcomed them.
She was genuinely fond of the old man. Mr. Triggs radiated happiness
from the top of his shiny bald head, with its fringe of sandy-grey
hair, to his square-toed boots that invariably emitted little squeaks
of joy. He wore a fringe of whiskers round his chubby face, otherwise
he was clean-shaven, holding that beards were "messy" things. He had
what Patricia called "crinkly" eyes, that is to say each time he smiled
there seemed to radiate from them hundreds of little lines.

He always addressed Patricia as "me dear," and not infrequently brought
her a box of chocolates, to the scandal of Mrs. Bonsor, who had once
expostulated with him that that was not the way to treat her husband's
secretary.

"Tut, tut, 'Ettie," had been Mr. Triggs's response. "She's a fine gal.
If I was a bit younger I shouldn't be surprised if there was a second
Mrs. Triggs."

"Father!" Mrs. Bonsor had expostulated in horror. "Remember that she
is Arthur's secretary."

Mr. Triggs had almost choked with laughter; mirth invariably seemed to
interfere with his respiration and ended in violent and wheezy
coughings and gaspings. Had Mrs. Bonsor known that he repeated the
conversation to Patricia, she would have been mortified almost to the
point of discharging her husband's secretary.

"You see, me dear," Mr. Triggs had once said to Patricia, "'Ettie's so
busy bothering about aitches that she's got time for nothing else. She
ain't exactly proud of her old father," he had added shrewdly, "but she
finds 'is brass a bit useful." Mr. Triggs was under no delusion as to
his daughter's attitude towards him.

One day he had asked Patricia rather suddenly, "Why don't you get
married, me dear?"

Patricia had started and looked up at him quickly. "Married, me, Mr.
Triggs? Oh! I suppose for one thing nobody wants me, and for another
I'm not in love."

Mr. Triggs had pondered a little ove