CHAPTER III
THE ADVENTURE AT THE QUADRANT GRILL-ROOM
That evening as Patricia looked in at the lounge on the way to herroom, she found it unusually crowded. On a normal day her appearancewould scarcely have been noticed; but this evening it was the signalfor a sudden cessation in the buzz of conversation, and all eyes wereupon her. For a moment she stood in the doorway and then, with a nodand a smile, she turned and proceeded upstairs, conscious of thewhispering that broke out as soon as her back was turned.
As she stood before the mirror, wondering what she should wear for thenight's adventure, she recalled a remark of Miss Wangle's that noreally nice-minded woman ever dressed in black and white unless she hadsome ulterior motive. Upon the subject of sex-attraction Miss Wangleposed as an authority, and hinted darkly at things that thrilled MissSikkum to ecstatic giggles, and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe to pianissimomoans of anguish that such things could be.
With great deliberation Patricia selected a black charmeuse costumethat Miss Wangle had already confided to the whole of Galvin House wasat least two and a half inches too short; but as Patricia had explainedto Mrs. Hamilton, if you possess exquisitely fitting patent boots thatcome high up the leg, it's a sin for the skirt to be too long. Sheselected a black velvet hat with a large white water-lily on the upperbrim.
"You look bad enough for a vicar's daughter," she said, surveyingherself in the glass as she fastened a bunch of red carnations in herbelt. "White at the wrists and on the hat, yes, it looks mostimproper. I wonder what the major-man will think?"
Swift movements, deft touches, earnest scrutiny followed one another.Patricia was an artist in dress. Finally, when her gold wristlet watchhad been fastened over a white glove she subjected herself to a finaland exhaustive examination.
"Now, Patricia!"--it had become with her a habit to address herreflection in the mirror--"shall we carry an umbrella, or shall wenot?" For a few moments she regarded herself quizzically, then finallyannounced, "No: we will not. An umbrella suggests a bus, or the tube,and when a girl goes out with a major in the British Army, she goes ina taxi. No, we will not carry an umbrella."
She still lingered in front of the mirror, looking at herself withobvious approval.
"Yes, Patricia! you are looking quite nice. Your eyes are violeter,your hair more sunsetty and your lips redder than usual, and, yes, yourface generally looks happier."
When she entered the lounge it was twenty minutes to eight and,although dinner was at seven-thirty, the room was full. Everybodystared at her as with flushed cheeks she walked to the centre of theroom. Then suddenly turning to Miss Wangle, she said, "Do you think Ishall do, Miss Wangle, or do I look too wicked for a major?"
Miss Wangle merely stared. Mrs. Hamilton smiled and Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe looked sympathetically at Miss Wangle. Mr. Boltonlaughed.
"I wish I was a major, Miss Brent," he remarked, at which Patriciaturned to him and made an elaborate curtsy.
"That girl will come to a bad end," remarked Miss Wangle withconviction to Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, as with a smile over her shoulderPatricia made a dramatic exit. She had noticed, however, that MissWangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe were in hats and jackets. They, too,were apparently going out, although she had not heard them tell Mrs.Craske-Morton so. Mr. Bolton also had his hat in his hand. During theday Patricia had thought out very carefully the part she had setherself to play. If she were going to meet her fiance back from theFront, she must appear radiantly happy, vide conventional opinion. Butshe had admonished her reflection in the mirror, "You mustn't overdoit. Women, especially tabbies, are very acute."
It had been Patricia's intention to go by bus but at the entrance ofthe lounge she saw Gustave who ingratiatingly enquired, "Taxi, mees?"
With a smile she nodded her head, and Gustave disappeared. "There goesanother two shillings. Oh, bother Major Brown! Soldiers are costlyluxuries," she muttered under her breath.
A moment after Gustave reappeared with the intimation that the taxi wasat the door. A group of her fellow-guests gathered in the hall to seeher off. Patricia thought their attitude more appropriate to a weddingthan the fact that one of their fellow-boarders was going out todinner. "It is clear," she thought, "that Patricia Brent, man-catcher,is a much more important person than is Patricia Brent, inveteratespinster."
She noticed that there was a second taxi at the door, and while her owndriver was "winding-up" his machine, which took some little time, theother taxi got off in front. She had seen get into it Miss Wangle,Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, and Mr. Bolton.
As the taxi sped eastward, Patricia began to speculate as to what shereally intended doing. She had no appointment, she was in a taxi whichwould cost her two shillings at least, and she had given the address ofthe Quadrant Grill-room.
She was still considering what she should do when the taxi drew up.Fate and the taxi driver had decided the matter between them, andPatricia determined to go through with it and disappoint neither.Having paid the man and tipped him handsomely, she descended the stairsto the Grill-room. She had no idea of what it cost to dine at theQuadrant; but remembered with a comfortable feeling that she had sometwo pounds upon her. With moderation, she decided, it might bepossible to get a meal for that sum without attracting the adversecriticism of the staff. It had not struck her that it might appearstrange for a girl to dine alone at such a restaurant as the Quadrant,and that she was laying herself open to criticism. She was too excitedat this new adventure into which she had been precipitated for carefulreasoning.
As she descended the stairs she caught a glimpse of herself in amirror. She started. Surely that could not be Patricia Brent,secretary to a rising politician, that stylish-looking girl in black,with a large bunch of carnations. That red-haired creature withsparkling eyes and a colour that seemed to have caught the reflectionof the carnations in her belt!
She entered the lounge at the foot of the stairs with increasedconfidence, and she was conscious that several men turned to look ather with interest. Then suddenly the bottom fell out of her world.There, standing in the vestibule, were Miss Wangle, Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe, and Mr. Bolton. In a flash she saw it all. They hadcome to spy upon her. They would find her out, and the wholehumiliating story would probably have to be told. Thoughts seemed tospurt through her mind. What was she to do? It was too late toretreat. Miss Wangle had already fixed her with a stony stare throughher lorgnettes, which she carried only on special occasions.
Patricia was conscious of bowing and smiling sweetly. Somesub-conscious power seemed to take possession of her. Still wonderingwhat she should do, she found herself walking head in the air andperfectly composed, in the direction of the Grill-room. She wasconscious of being followed by Miss Wangle and her party. As Patriciarounded the glass screen a superintendent came up and enquired if shehad a table. She heard a voice that seemed like and yet unlike her ownanswer, "Yes, thank you," and she passed on looking from right to leftas if in search of someone, unconscious of the many glances cast in herdirection.
When about half-way up the long room, just past the bandstand, theterrible thought came to her of a possible humiliating retreat. Whatwas she to do? Why was she there? What were her plans? She lookedabout her, hoping that she did not appear so frightened as she felt.She was conscious of the gaze of a man seated at a table a few yardsoff. He was fair and in khaki. That was all she knew. Yes, he waslooking at her intently.
"No, that table won't do! It is too near to the band." It was MissWangle's voice behind her. Without a moment's hesitation hersub-conscious self once more took possession of Patricia, and shemarched straight up to the fair-haired man in khaki and in a voice loudenough for Miss Wangle and her party to hear cried:
"Hullo! so here you are, I thought I should never find you." Then ashe rose she murmured under her breath, "Please play up to me, I'm in anawful hole. I'll explain presently."
Without a moment's hesitation the man replied, "You're very late. Iwaited
for you a long time outside, then I gave you up."
With a look of gratitude and a sigh of content, Patricia sank down intothe chair a waiter had placed for her. If there had been no chair, shewould have fallen to the floor, her legs refusing further to supporther body. She was trembling all over. Miss Wangle had selected thenext table. Patricia was conscious of hoping that somewhere in thenext world Miss Wangle's sufferings would transcend those of Dives as ahundred to one.
As she was pulling off her gloves her companion held a low-tonedcolloquy with the waiter. She stole a glance at him. What must he bethinking? How had he classified her? Her heart was pounding againsther ribs as if determined to burst through.
Suddenly she remembered that the others were watching and, leaning uponthe table, she said:
"Please pretend to be very pleased to see me. We must talk a lot. Youknow--you know--" then she turned aside in confusion; but with aneffort she said, "You--you are supposed to be my fiance, and you'vejust come back from France, and--and---- Oh! what are you thinking ofme? Please--please----" she broke off.
Very gravely and with smiling eyes he replied, "I quite understand.Please don't worry. Something has happened, and if I can do anythingto help, you have only to tell me. My name is Bowen, and I'm just backfrom France."
"Are you a major?" enquired Patricia, to whom stars and crowns meantnothing.
"I'm afraid I'm a lieutenant-colonel," he replied, "on the Staff."
"Oh! what a pity," said Patricia, "I said you were a major."
"Couldn't you say I've been promoted?"
Patricia clapped her hands. "Oh! how splendid! Of course! You see Isaid that you were Major Brown, I can easily tell them that theymisunderstood and that it was Major Bowen. They are such awful cats,and if they found out I should have to leave. You see that's some ofthem at the next table there. That's Miss Wangle with the lorgnettesand the other woman is Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, who is her echo, and theman is Mr. Bolton. He's nothing in particular."
"I see," said Bowen.
"And--and--of course you've got to pretend to be most awfully glad tosee me. You see we haven't met for a long time and--and--we'reengaged."
"I quite understand," was the reply.
Then suddenly Patricia caught his eye and saw the smile in it.
"Oh, how dreadful!" she cried. "Of course you don't know anythingabout it. I'm talking like a schoolgirl. You see my name's Patricia,Patricia Brent," and then she plunged into the whole story, telling himfrankly of her escapade. He was strangely easy to talk to.
"And--and--" she concluded, "what do you think of me?"
"I think I'd sooner not tell you just now," he smiled.
"Is it as bad as that," she enquired.
Then suddenly the smile faded from his face and he leaned across toher, saying:
"Miss Brent----"
"I'm afraid you must call me Patricia," she interrupted with a comicallook, "in case they overhear. It seems rather sudden, doesn't it, andI shall have to call you----"
"Peter," he said. He had nice eyes Patricia decided.
"Er--er--Peter," she made a dash at the name.
Bowen sat back in his chair and laughed. Miss Wangle fixed upon him astare through her lorgnettes, not an unfavourable stare, she wasgreatly impressed by his rank and red tabs.
After that the ice seemed broken and Patricia and her "fiance" chattedmerrily together, greatly impressing Patricia's fellow-boarders.
Bowen was a good talker and a sympathetic listener and, above all, hisattitude had in it that deference which put Patricia entirely at herease. She told him all there was to tell about herself and he, inreturn, explained that he came of an army family, and had been sent outto France soon after Mons. He was then a captain in the Yeomanry. Hewas wounded, promoted, and later received the D.S.O. and M.C. He hadnow been brought back to England and attached to the General Staff.
"Now I think you know all that is necessary to know about your fiance,"he had concluded.
Patricia laughed. "Oh, by the way," she said, "you have never given mean engagement ring. Please don't forget that. They asked me where myring was, and I told them I didn't care about rings, as they werebadges of servitude. You see it is quite possible that Miss Wanglewill come over to us presently. She's just that sort, and she mightask awkward questions, that is why I am telling you all about myself."
"I'll remember," said Bowen.
"I'm glad you're a D.S.O., though," she went on, half to herself,"that's sure to interest them, and it's nice to think you're more thana major. Miss Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe are most worldly-minded.Of course it would have been nicer had you been a field-marshal; but Isuppose you couldn't be promoted from a major to a field-marshal in thecourse of a few days, could you?"
"Well, it's not usual," he confessed.
When the meal was over Bowen looked at his watch.
"I'm afraid it's too late for a show, it's a quarter to ten."
"A quarter to ten!" cried Patricia. "How the time has flown. I shallhave to be going home."
He noticed preparations for a move at the Wangle table.
"Oh, please, don't hurry! Let's go upstairs and sit and smoke for alittle time."
"Do you think I ought," enquired Patricia critically, her head on oneside.
"Well," replied Bowen, "I think that you might safely do so as we areengaged," and that settled it.
They went upstairs, and it was a quarter to eleven before Patriciafinally decided that she must make a move.
"Do you know," she said as she rose, "I am afraid I have enjoyed thismost awfully; but oh! to-morrow morning."
"Shall you be tired?" he enquired.
"Tired!" she queried, "I shall be hot with shame. I shall not dare tolook at myself in the glass. I--I shall give myself a most awful time.For days I shall live in torture. You see I'm excited nowand--and--you seem so nice, and you've been so awfully kind; but when Iget alone, then I shall start wondering what was in your mind, what youhave been thinking of me, and--and--oh! it will be awful. No; I'llcome with you while you get your hat. I daren't be left alone. Itmight come on then and--and I should probably bolt. Of course I shallhave to ask you to see me home, if you will, because--because----"
"I'm your fiance," he smiled.
"Ummm," she nodded.
Both were silent as they sped along westward in the taxi, neitherseeming to wish to break the spell.
"Thinking?" enquired Bowen at length, as they passed the Marble Arch.
"I was thinking how perfectly sweet you've been," replied Patriciagravely. "You have understood everything and--and--you see I was somuch at your mercy. Shall I tell you what I was thinking?"
"Please do."
"It sounds horribly sentimental."
"Never mind," he replied.
"Well, I was thinking that your mother would like to know that you haddone what you have done to-night. And now, please, tell me how much mydinner was."
"Your dinner!"
"Yes, _ple-e-e-e-ase_," she emphasised the "please."
"You insist?"
And then Patricia did a strange thing. She placed her hand uponBowen's and pressed it.
"Please go on understanding," she said, and he told her how much thedinner was and took the money from her.
"May I pay for the taxi?" he enquired comically.
For a moment she paused and then replied, "Yes, I think you may dothat, and now here we are," as the taxi drew up, "and thank you verymuch indeed, and good-bye." They were standing on the pavement outsideGalvin House.
"Good-bye," he enquired. "Do you really mean it?"
"Yes, _ple-e-e-ase_," again she emphasised the "please."
"Patricia," he said in a serious tone, as the door flew open andGustave appeared silhouetted against the light, "don't you think thatsometimes we ought to think of the other fellow?"
"I shall always think of the other fellow," and with a pressure of thehand, Patricia ran up the steps and disa
ppeared into the hall, the doorclosing behind her. Bowen turned slowly and re-entered the taxi.
"Where to, sir?" enquired the man.
"Oh, to hell!" burst out Bowen savagely.
"Yes, sir; but wot about my petrol?"
"Your petrol? Oh! I see," Bowen laughed. "Well! the Quadrant then."
In the hall Patricia hesitated. Should she go into the lounge, whereshe was sure Galvin House would be gathered in full force, or shouldshe go straight to bed? Miss Wangle decided the matter by appearing atthe door of the lounge.
"Oh! here you are, Miss Brent; we thought you had eloped."
"Wasn't it strange we should see you to-night?" lisped Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe, who had followed Miss Wangle.
Patricia surveyed Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe with calculating calmness.
"If two people go to the same Grill-room at the same time on the sameevening, it would be strange if they did not see each other. Don't youthink so, Miss Wangle?"
"Did you say you were going there?" lisped Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe, comingto Miss Wangle's assistance. "We forgot."
"Oh, do come in, Miss Brent!" It was Mrs. Craske-Morton who spoke.
Patricia entered the lounge and found, as she had anticipated, thewhole establishment collected. Not one was missing. Even Gustavefluttered about from place to place, showing an unwonted desire to tidyup. Patricia was conscious that her advent had interrupted aconversation of absorbing interest, furthermore that she herself hadbeen the subject of that conversation.
"Miss Wangle has been telling us all about your fiance." It was MissSikkum who spoke. "Fancy your saying he was a major when he's a Stafflieutenant-colonel."
"Oh!" replied Patricia nonchalantly, as she pulled off her gloves,"they've been altering him. They always do that in the Army. You getengaged to a captain and you find you have to marry a general. It's sostupid. It's like buying a kitten and getting a kangaroo-pup senthome."
"But aren't you pleased?" enquired Mrs. Craske-Morton, at a loss tounderstand Patricia's mood.
"No!" snapped Patricia, who was already feeling the reaction. "It'slike being engaged to a chameleon, or a quick-change artist. They'vemade him a 'R.S.O.' as well." Under her lashes Patricia saw, with keenappreciation, the quick glances that were exchanged.
"You mean a D.S.O., Distinguished Service Order," explained Mr. Bolton."An R.S.O. is er--er--something you put on letters."
"Is it?" enquired Patricia innocently, "I'm so stupid at rememberingsuch things."
"He was wearing the ribbon of the Military Cross, too," bubbled Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe.
"Was he?" Patricia was afraid of overdoing the pose of innocence shehad adopted. "What a nuisance."
"A nuisance!" There was surprised impatience in Miss Wangle's voice.
Patricia turned to her sweetly. "Yes, Miss Wangle. It gives me such alot to remember. Now let me see." She proceeded to tick off each wordupon her fingers. "He's a Lieutenant-Colonel Peter Bowen, D.S.O., M.C.Is that right?"
"Bowen," almost shrieked Miss Wangle. "You said Brown."
"Did I? I'm awfully sorry. My memory's getting worse than ever."Then a wave of mischief took possession of her. "Do you know when Iwent up to him to-night I hadn't the remotest idea of what hisChristian name was."
"Then what on earth do you call him then?" cried Mrs. Craske-Morton.
"Call him?" queried Patricia, as she rose and gathered up her gloves."Oh!" indifferently, "I generally call him 'Old Thing,'" and with thatshe left the lounge, conscious that she had scored a tactical victory.