--" she concluded, "what do you think of me?"

"I think I'd sooner not tell you just now," he smiled.

"Is it as bad as that," she enquired.

Then suddenly the smile faded from his face and he leaned across to
her, saying:

"Miss Brent----"

"I'm afraid you must call me Patricia," she interrupted with a comical
look, "in case they overhear. It seems rather sudden, doesn't it, and
I shall have to call you----"

"Peter," he said. He had nice eyes Patricia decided.

"Er--er--Peter," she made a dash at the name.

Bowen sat back in his chair and laughed. Miss Wangle fixed upon him a
stare through her lorgnettes, not an unfavourable stare, she was
greatly impressed by his rank and red tabs.

After that the ice seemed broken and Patricia and her "fiance" chatted
merrily together, greatly impressing Patricia's fellow-boarders.

Bowen was a good talker and a sympathetic listener and, above all, his
attitude had in it that deference which put Patricia entirely at her
ease. She told him all there was to tell about herself and he, in
return, explained that he came of an army family, and had been sent out
to France soon after Mons. He was then a captain in the Yeomanry. He
was wounded, promoted, and later received the D.S.O. and M.C. He had
now been brought back to England and attached to the General Staff.

"Now I think you know all that is necessary to know about your fiance,"
he had concluded.

Patricia laughed. "Oh, by the way," she said, "you have never given me
an engagement ring. Please don't forget that. They asked me where my
ring was, and I told them I didn't care about rings, as they were
badges of servitude. You see it is quite possible that Miss Wangle
will come over to us presently. She's just that sort, and she might
ask awkward questions, that is why I am telling you all about myself."

"I'll remember," said Bowen.

"I'm glad you're a D.S.O., though," she went on, half to herself,
"that's sure to interest them, and it's nice to think you're more than
a major. Miss Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe are most worldly-minded.
Of course it would have been nicer had you been a field-marshal; but I
suppose you couldn't be promoted from a major to a field-marshal in the
course of a few days, could you?"

"Well, it's not usual," he confessed.

When the meal was over Bowen looked at his watch.

"I'm afraid it's too late for a show, it's a quarter to ten."

"A quarter to ten!" cried Patricia. "