cold shoulder of mutton and held the salad-bowl at her side. Having helped herself Patricia turned to Miss Wangle, and for a moment regarded her with an enigmatical smile that made her fidget.
"How clever of you, Miss Wangle," she said sweetly. "In future no one will ever dare to have a secret at Galvin House."
Miss Wangle reddened. Mr. Bolton's laugh rang out.
"Miss Wangle, Private Enquiry Agent," he cried, "I"
"Really, Mr. Bolton!" protested Mrs. Craske-Morton, looking anxiously at Miss Wangle's indrawn lips and angry eyes.
Mr. Bolton subsided.
"We're so excited, dear Miss Brent," simpered Miss Sikkum. "You'll be Lady Bowen"
"Lady Peter Bowen," corrected Mrs. Craske-Morton with superior knowledge.
"Lady Peter," gushed Miss Sikkum. "Oh how romantic, and I shall see your portrait in The Mirror. Oh! Miss Brent, aren't you happy?"
Patricia smiled across at Miss Sikkum, whose enthusiasm was too genuine to cause offence.
"And you'll have cars and all sorts of things,' remarked Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, thinking of her solitary blue evening frock, "he's very rich.'
"Worth ten thousand a year," almost shouted Mr. Cordal, striving to regain control over a piece of lettuce-leaf that fluttered from his lips, and having eventually to use his fingers.
