I can do, you will tell me, won't you? You won't think me inquisitive, will you?"
"Why you dear, silly little thing, of course I don't. Still it's just like your sweet self to come up and enquire. It is only that ridiculous Colonel Bowen who is showering telegrams on me in this way, in order, I suppose, to benefit the revenue. I think he has gone mad. Perhaps it's shell-shock, poor thing. There will most likely be another shower before we go to bed. Now we will go downstairs and stop those old pussies talking."
"My dear!" expostulated Mrs. Hamilton.
Patricia laughed. "Yes, aren't I getting acid and spinsterish?"
As they walked downstairs Mrs. Hamilton said:
"I'm so anxious to see him, my dear. Miss Wangle says he is so distinguished-looking."
"Who?" enquired Patricia, with mock innocence.
"Colonel Bowen, dear."
"Oh! Yes, he's quite a decent-looking old thing, and he's given Galvin House something to talk about, hasn't he?"
In the lounge Patricia soon became the centre of a group anxious for information; but no one was daring enough to put direct questions to her. Mrs. Craske-Morton ventured a suggestion that Colonel Bowen might be coming to dine with Patricia, and that she hoped Miss Brent would let her know in good time, so that she might make special preparations.
