the curious: he betrayed neither emotion nor confidence. In short he was the most perfect gentleman's servant in existence.
"What's the time, Peel?" enquired Bowen.
"Seven forty-three, my lord," replied the meticulous Peel, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Have I any engagements to-day?" queried his master.
"No, my lord. You have refused to make any since last Thursday morning."
Then Bowen remembered. He had pleaded pressure at the War Office as an excuse for declining all invitations. He was determined that nothing should interfere with his seeing Patricia should she unbend. With the thought of Patricia returned the memory of the previous night's events. Bowen cursed himself for the mess he had made of things. Every act of his had seemed to result only in one thing, the angering of Patricia. Even then things might have gone well if it had not been for his wretched bad luck in being the son of a peer.
As he lay watching Peel, Bowen felt in a mood to condole with himself. Confound it! Surely it could not be urged against him as his fault that he had a wretched title. He had been given no say in the matter. As for telling Patricia, could he immediately on meeting her blurt out, "I'm a lord?" Supposing he had introduced himself as "Lieutenant-Colonel Lord Peter Bowen." How
