"My dear Peter," remarked Lady Tanagra lazily, "this primitive profanity ill becomes"
"Please don't rot me, Tan," he pleaded. "I've had a rotten time lately."
There was helpless and hopeless pain in Bowen's voice that caused Lady Tanagra to spring up from her chair and go over to him.
"Carry on, old boy," she cried softly, as she caressed his coat-sleeve. "It's your only chance. You're going to win."
"I must see her!" blurted out Bowen.
"If you do you'll spoil everything," announced Lady Tanagra with conviction.
"But, last night," began Bowen and paused.
"Last night, I think," said Lady Tanagra, "was a master-stroke. She is touched; it's taken us forward at least a week."
"But look here, Tan," said Bowen gloomily, "you told me to leave it all in your hands and you make me treat her rottenly, then you say"
"That you know about as much of how to make a woman like Patricia fall in love with you as an ostrich does of geology," said Lady Tanagra calmly.
"But what will she think?" demanded Bowen.
"At present she is thinking that Eastbourne will be a nightmare of loneliness."
"I'll run down and see her," announced Bowen.
"If you do, Peter!" There was a note of warning in Lady Tanagra's voice.
