Part 16 (1/2)
”It's difficult, isn't it, Patricia?” he said.
”It's absurd, and please don't call me Patricia.”
”But we're engaged and----”
”We're nothing of the sort,” she said.
”But we are,” protested Bowen. ”I can----”
”Never mind what you can do,” she retorted. ”What am I to tell Aunt Adelaide at half-past five to-morrow evening?”
”Why not tell her the truth?” said Bowen.
”Isn't that just like a man?” Patricia addressed the query to a deer that was eyeing the car curiously from some fifty yards distance.
”Tell the truth,” she repeated scornfully. ”But how much will that help us?”
”Well! let's tell a lie,” protested Bowen, smiling.
And then Patricia did a weak and foolish thing, she laughed, and Bowen laughed. Finally they sat and looked at each other helplessly.
”However you got those,” she nodded at the ribbons on his breast, ”I don't know. It was certainly not for being intelligent.”
For a minute Bowen did not reply. He was apparently lost in thought.
Presently he turned to Patricia.
”Look here,” he said, ”by half-past five to-morrow afternoon I'll have found a solution. Now can't we talk about something pleasant?”
”There is nothing pleasant to talk about when Aunt Adelaide is looming on the horizon. She's about the most unpleasant thing next to chilblains that I know.”
”I suppose,” said Bowen tentatively, ”you couldn't solve the difficulty by marrying me by special licence.”
”Marry you by special licence!” cried Patricia in amazement.
”Yes, it would put everything right.”
”I think you must be mad,” said Patricia with decision; but conscious that her cheeks were very hot.
”I think I must be in love,” was Bowen's quiet retort. ”Will you?”
”Not even to escape Aunt Adelaide's interrogation would I marry you by special, or any other licence,” said Patricia with decision.
Bowen turned away, a shadow falling across his face. Then a moment after, drawing his cigarette-case from his pocket, he enquired, ”Shall we smoke?”
Patricia accepted the cigarette he offered her. She watched him as he lighted first hers, then his own. She saw the frown that had settled upon his usually happy face, and noted the staccatoed manner in which he smoked. Then she became conscious that she had been lacking in not only graciousness but common civility. Instinctively she put out her hand and touched his coat-sleeve.
”Please forgive me, I was rather a beast, wasn't I?” she said.
He looked round and smiled; but the smile did not reach his eyes.
”Please try and understand,” she said, ”and now will you drive me home?”