"A cormorant?" queried Bowen, ignoring the second question. "I don't understand."
"Within twenty-four hours you have sent me enough chocolates to last for a couple of months."
"Poor Patricia!" he laughed.
"You mustn't call me Patricia, Colonel Bowen," she said primly. "What will people think?"
"What would they think if they heard the man you're engaged to call you Miss Brent?"
"We are not engaged," said Patricia hotly.
"We are," his eyes smiled into hers. "I can bring all these people here to prove it on your own statement."
She bit her lip. "Are you going to be mean? Are you going to play the game?" She awaited his reply with an anxiety she strove to disguise.
Bowen looked straight into her eyes until they fell beneath his gaze.
"I'm afraid I've got to be mean, Patricia," he said quietly. "May we smoke?"
As she took a cigarette from his case and he lighted it for her, Patricia found herself experiencing a new sensation. Without apparent effort he had assumed control of the situation, and then with a masterfulness that she felt rather than acknowledged, had put the subject aside as if requiring no further comment. This was a side of Bowen's character that she had not yet seen. As she was debating with herself whether or no she liked it, the door opened, giving access to a stream of Galvin Houseites.
