CHAPTER IV
THE MADNESS OF LORD PETER BOWEN

When Patricia awakened the next morning, it was with the feeling that she had suffered some terrible disappointment.  As a child she remembered experiencing the same sensation on the morning after some tragedy that had resulted in her crying herself to sleep.  She opened her eyes and was conscious that her lashes were wet with tears.

Suddenly the memory of the previous night's adventure came back to her with a rush and, with an angry dab of the bedclothes, she wiped her eyes, just as the maid entered with the cup of early-morning tea she had specially ordered.

With inspiration she decided to breakfast in bed.  She could not face a whole table of wide-eyed interrogation.  "Oh, the cats!" she muttered under her breath.  "I hate women!"  Later she slipped out of the house unobserved, with what she described to herself as a "morning after the party" feeling.  She was puzzled to account for the tears.  What had she been dreaming of to make her cry?

Every time the thought of her adventure presented itself, she put it resolutely aside.  She was angry with herself, angry with the world, angry with one Lieutenant-Colonel Peter Bowen.  Why, she could not have explained.

"Oh, bother!" she exclaimed, as she made a fourth correction in the same letter.  "Going out is evidently not good for you, Patricia."

She spent the day alternately in wondering what Bowen was thinking of her, and deciding that he was not thinking of her at all.  Finally, with a feeling of hot shame, she remembered to what thoughts she had laid herself open.  Her one consolation was that she would never see him again.  Then, woman-like, she wondered whether he would make an effort to see her.  Would he be content with his dismissal?

For the first time during their association, the rising politician was conscious that his secretary was anxious to get off sharp to time.  At five minutes to five she resolutely put aside her notebook, and banged the cover on to her typewriter.  Mr. Bonsor looked up at this unwonted energy and punctuality on Patricia's part, and with a tactful interest in the affairs of others that he was endeavouring to cultivate for political purposes, he enquired:

"Going out?"

"No," snapped Patricia, "I'm going home."

Mr. Bonsor raised his eyebrows in astonishment. 

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