that Mr. Bonsor had made upon Botulism, Mr. Triggs entered the library. After his cheery "How goes it, me dear?" he stood for some moments gazing down at her solicitously.
"You ain't lookin' well, me dear," he said with conviction.
"That's a sure way to a woman's heart," replied Patricia gaily.
"'Ow's that, me dear?" he questioned.
"Why, telling her that she's looking plain," retorted Patricia.
Mr. Triggs protested.
"All I want is a holiday," went on Patricia "There are only three weeks to wait and then"
There was, however, no joy of anticipation in her voice.
"You're frettin'!"
Patricia turned angrily upon Mr. Triggs.
"Fretting! What on earth do you mean, Mr Triggs?" she demanded.
Mr. Triggs sat down suddenly, overwhelmed by Patricia's indignation.
"Don't be cross with me, me dear." Mr. Triggs looked so like a child fearing rebuke that she was forced to smile.
"You must not say absurd things then," she retorted. "What have I got to fret about?"
Mr. Triggs quailed beneath her challenging glance. "I—I'm sorry, me dear," he said contritely.
