"Shall you be tired?" he enquired.

"Tired!" she queried, "I shall be hot with shame. I shall not dare to look at myself in the glass. I--I shall give myself a most awful time. For days I shall live in torture. You see I'm excited now and--and--you seem so nice, and you've been so awfully kind; but when I get alone, then I shall start wondering what was in your mind, what you have been thinking of me, and--and--oh! it will be awful. No; I'll come with you while you get your hat. I daren't be left alone. It might come on then and--and I should probably bolt. Of course I shall have to ask you to see me home, if you will, because--because----"

"I'm your fiancé," he smiled.

"Ummm," she nodded.

Both were silent as they sped along westward in the taxi, neither seeming to wish to break the spell.

"Thinking?" enquired Bowen at length, as they passed the Marble Arch.

"I was thinking how perfectly sweet you've been," replied Patricia gravely. "You have understood everything and--and--you see I was so much at your mercy. Shall I tell you what I was thinking?"

"Please do."

"It sounds horribly sentimental."

"Never mind," he replied.

"Well, I was thinking that your mother would like to know that you had done what you have done to-night. And now, please, tell me how much my dinner was."

"Your dinner!"

"Yes, _ple-e-e-e-ase_," she emphasised the "please."

"You insist?"

And then Patricia did a strange thing. She placed her hand upon Bowen's and pressed it.

"Please go on understanding," she said, and he told her how much the dinner was and took the money from her.

"May I pay for the taxi?" he enquired comically.

 Prev. P 22/190 next