Patricia Brent, Spinster Part 49

"That is too conventional to be worthy of you," said Elton.

"How?" queried Patricia.

"Most of the dull people I know ascribe their dullness to lack of opportunities for travel. They seem to think that a voyage round the world will make brilliant talkers of the toughest bores."

"Am I as tedious as that?" enquired Patricia, looking up with a smile.

"Your friend, Mr. Triggs, for instance," continued Elton, pa.s.sing over Patricia's remark. "He has not travelled, and he is always interesting. Why?"

"I suppose because he is Mr. Triggs," said Patricia half to herself.

"Exactly," said Elton. "If you were really yourself you would not be----"

"So dull," broke in Patricia with a laugh.

"So lonely," continued Elton, ignoring the interruption.

"Why do you say that?" demanded Patricia. "It's not exactly a compliment."

"Intellectual loneliness may be the lot of the greatest social success."

"But why do you think I am lonely?" persisted Patricia.

"Let us take Mr. Triggs as an ill.u.s.tration. He is direct, unversed in diplomacy, golden-hearted, with a great capacity for friends.h.i.+p and sentiment. When he is hurt he shows it as plainly as a child, therefore we none of us hurt him."

"He's a dear!" murmured Patricia half to herself.

"If he were in love he would never permit pride to disguise it."

Patricia glanced up at Elton: but he was engaged in examining the end of his cigarette.

"He would credit the other person with the same sincerity as himself,"

continued Elton. "The biggest rogue respects an honest man, that is why we, who are always trying to disguise our emotions, admire Mr.

Triggs, who would just as soon wear a red beard and false eyebrows as seek to convey a false impression."

Patricia found herself wondering why Elton had selected this topic.

She was conscious that it was not due to chance.

"Is it worth it?" Elton's remark, half command, half question, seemed to stab through her thoughts.

She looked up at him, her eyes a little widened with surprise.

"Is what worth what?" she enquired.

"I was just wondering," said Elton, "if the Triggses are not very wise in eating onions and not bothering about what the world will think."

"Eating onions!" cried Patricia.

"My medical board is on Tuesday up North," said Elton, "and I shall hope to get back to France. You see things in a truer perspective when you're leaving town under such conditions."

Patricia was silent for some time. Elton's remarks sometimes wanted thinking out.

"You think we should take happiness where we can find it?" she asked.

"Well! I think we are too much inclined to render unto Caesar the things which are G.o.d's," he replied gravely.

"Do you appreciate that you are talking in parables?" said Patricia.

"That is because I do not possess Mr. Triggs's golden gift of directness."

Suddenly Patricia glanced at her watch. "Why, it's five minutes to three!" she cried. "I had no idea it was so late."

"I promised to run round to say good-bye to Peter at three," Elton remarked casually, as he pa.s.sed through the lounge.

"Good-bye!" cried Patricia in surprise.

"He is throwing up his staff appointment, and has applied to rejoin his regiment in France."

For a moment Patricia stopped dead, then with a great effort she pa.s.sed through the revolving door into the sunlight. Her knees seemed strangely shaky, and she felt thankful when she saw the porter hail a taxi. Elton handed her in and closed the door.

"Galvin House?" he interrogated.

"When does he go?" asked Patricia in a voice that she could not keep even in tone.

"As soon as the War Office approves," said Elton.

"Does Lady Tanagra know?" she asked.

"No, Peter will not tell her until everything is settled," he replied.

As the taxi sped westwards Patricia was conscious that some strange change had come over her. She had the feeling that follows a long bout of weeping. Peter was going away! Suddenly everything was changed!

Everything was explained! She must see him! Prevent him from going back to France! He was going because of her! He would be killed and it would be her fault!

Arrived at Galvin House she went straight to her room. For two hours she lay on her bed, her mind in a turmoil, her head feeling as if it were being compressed into a mould too small for it. No matter how she strove to control them, her thoughts inevitably returned to the phrase, "Peter is going to France."

Unknown to herself, she was fighting a great fight with her pride. She must see him, but how? If she telephoned it would be an unconditional surrender. She could never respect herself again. "When you are in love you take pleasure in trampling your pride underfoot." The phrase persisted in obtruding itself. Where had she heard it? What was pride? she asked herself. One might be very lonely with pride as one's sole companion. What would Mr. Triggs say? She could see his forehead corrugated with trying to understand what pride had to do with love.

Even Elton, self-restrained, almost self-sufficient, admitted that Mr.

Triggs was right.

If she let Peter go? A year hence, a month perhaps, she might have lost him. Of what use would her pride be then? She had not known before; but now she knew how much Peter meant to her. Since he had come into her life everything had changed, and she had grown discontented with the things that, hitherto, she had tacitly accepted as her portion.

"You're fretting, me dear!" Mr. Triggs's remark came back to her. She recalled how indignant she had been. Why? Because it was true. She had been cross. She remembered the old man's anxiety lest he had offended her. She almost smiled as she recalled his clumsy effort to explain away his remark.

She had heard someone knock gently at her door, once, twice, three times. She made no response. Then Gustave's voice whispered, "Tea is served in the looaunge, mees." She heard him creep away with clumsy stealth. There was a sweet-natured creature. He could never disguise an emotion. He had come upstairs during the raid, though in obvious terror, in order to save her. Mr. Triggs, Gustave, Elton, all were against her. She knew that in some subtle way they were working to fight _her_ pride.

For some time longer she lay, then suddenly she sprang up. First she bathed her face, then undid her hair, finally she changed her frock and powdered her nose.

"Hurry up, Patricia! or you may think better of it," she cried to her reflection in the gla.s.s. "This is a race with spinsterhood."