s."

Patricia was silent for some time. Elton's remarks sometimes wanted
thinking out.

"You think we should take happiness where we can find it?" she asked.

"Well! I think we are too much inclined to render unto Caesar the
things which are God's," he replied gravely.

"Do you appreciate that you are talking in parables?" said Patricia.

"That is because I do not possess Mr. Triggs's golden gift of
directness."

Suddenly Patricia glanced at her watch. "Why, it's five minutes to
three!" she cried. "I had no idea it was so late."

"I promised to run round to say good-bye to Peter at three," Elton
remarked casually, as he passed through the lounge.

"Good-bye!" cried Patricia in surprise.

"He is throwing up his staff appointment, and has applied to rejoin his
regiment in France."

For a moment Patricia stopped dead, then with a great effort she passed
through the revolving door into the sunlight. Her knees seemed
strangely shaky, and she felt thankful when she saw the porter hail a
taxi. Elton handed her in and closed the door.

"Galvin House?" he interrogated.

"When does he go?" asked Patricia in a voice that she could not keep
even in tone.

"As soon as the War Office approves," said Elton.

"Does Lady Tanagra know?" she asked.

"No, Peter will not tell her until everything is settled," he replied.

As the taxi sped westwards Patricia was conscious that some strange
change had come over her. She had the feeling that follows a long bout
of weeping. Peter was going away! Suddenly everything was changed!
Everything was explained! She must see him! Prevent him from going
back to France! He was going because of her! He would be killed and
it would be her fault!

Arrived at Galvin House she went straight to her room. For two hours
she lay on her bed, her mind in a turmoil, her head feeling as if it
were being compressed into a mould too small for it. No matter how she
strove to control them, her thoughts inevitably returned to the phrase,
"Peter is going to France."

Unknown to herself, she was fighting a great fight with her pride. She
must see him, but how? If she telephoned it would be an unconditional
surrender. She could never respect herself again. "When you are in
love you take pleasure in trampling your pride underfoot." The phrase
persisted in obtruding itself. Where had she heard it? What was
pride? she asked herself. One might be very lonely with pride as one's
sole