she would have been amused at the types around her, and
their various conceptions of "one crowded hour of glorious life." As
it was, everything seemed sordid and trivial. Why should people lose
all sense of dignity and proportion at a set period of the year? It
was, she decided, almost as bad as being a hare.

All she wanted was to be alone, she told herself; yet as soon as she
had discovered some secluded spot and had settled herself down to read,
the old restlessness attacked her, and fight against it as she might,
she was forced back again to the haunts of men.

For the first few days she watched eagerly for letters. None came.
She would return to the hotel several times a day, look at the
letter-rack, then, to hide her disappointment, make a pretence of
having returned for some other purpose. "Why had not Bowen written?"
she asked herself, then a moment after she strove to convince herself
that he had forgotten, or at least that she was only an episode in his
life.

His sudden change from eagerness to indifference caused her to flush
with humiliation; yet he had gone to Galvin House during the raid to
assure himself of her safety. Why had he not written after what had
occurred? Perhaps Aunt Adelaide was right about men after all.

Patricia wrote to Lady Tanagra, Mrs. Hamilton, Lady Peggy, Mr. Triggs,
even to Miss Sikkum. In due course answers arrived; but in only Miss
Sikkum's letter was there any reference to Bowen, a gush of sentiment
about "how happy you must be, dear Miss Brent, with Lord Bowen running
down to see you every other day. I know!" she added with maidenly
prescience. Patricia laughed.

Mr. Triggs committed himself to nothing more than two and three-quarter
pages, mainly about his daughter and "A. B.," Mr. Triggs was not at his
best as a correspondent. Lady Tanagra ran to four pages; but as her
handwriting was large, five lines filling a page, her letter was
disappointing.

Lady Peggy was the most productive. In the course of twelve pages of
spontaneity she told Patricia that the Duke and the Cabinet Minister
had almost quarrelled about her, Patricia. "Peter has been to lunch
with us and Daddy has told him how lucky he is, and how wonderful you
are. If Peter is not very careful, I shall have you presented to me as
a stepmother. Wouldn't it be priceless!" she wrote. "Oh! What am I
writing?" She ended with the Duke's love, and an insistence that
Patricia should lunch at Curzon S