treet the first Sunday after her
return.

Patricia found Lady Peggy's letter charming. She was pleased to know
that she had made a good impression and was admired--by the right
people. Twenty-four hours, however, found her once more thrown back
into the trough of her own despondency. Instinctively she began to
count the days until this "dire compulsion of infertile days" should
end. She could not very well return to London and say that she was
tired of holiday-making. Galvin House would put its own construction
upon her action and words, and whatever that construction might be, it
was safe to assume that it would be an unpleasant one.

There were moments when a slight uplifting of the veil enabled her to
see herself as she must appear to others.

"Patricia!" she exclaimed one morning to her reflection in a rather
dubious mirror. "You're a cumberer of the earth and, furthermore,
you've got a beastly temper," and she jabbed a pin through her hat and
partly into her head.

As the days passed she found herself wondering what was the earliest
day she could return. If she made it the Friday night, would it arouse
suspicion? She decided that it would, and settled to leave Eastbourne
on the Saturday afternoon.

As the train steamed out of the station she made a grimace in the
direction of the town, just as an inoffensive and prematurely bald
little man opposite looked up from his paper. He gave Patricia one
startled look through his gold-rimmed spectacles and, for the rest of
the journey, buried himself behind his paper, fearful lest Patricia
should "make another face at him," as he explained to his mother that
evening.

"She's come home in a nice temper!" was Miss Wangle's diagnosis of the
mood in which Patricia reached Galvin House.

Gustave regarded her with anxious concern.

The first dinner drove her almost mad. The raid, as a topic of
conversation, was on the wane, although Mr. Bolton worked at it nobly,
and Patricia found herself looked upon to supply the necessary material
for the evening's amusement. What had she done? Where had she been?
Had she bathed? Were the dresses pretty? How many times had Bowen
been down? Had she met any nice people? Was it true that the costumes
of the women were disgraceful?

At last, with a forced laugh, Patricia told them that she must have
"notice" of such questions, and everybody had looked at her in
surprise, until Mr. Bolton's laugh rang out, and he explaine