iv

The two girls had tea together at a café, and then walked to the Maynes' house, arriving there before six o'clock. Claudia then hastily telephoned to Edgar, leaving Patricia for the necessary few moments to the entertainment of Percy and Pulcinella. Patricia was once again in that delicately cordial room of blue and blue-grey; and the size of the room as well as the purity of its simple comfort was a solace to her. There were very few pictures in the room, and of these the largest was a strong and beautiful landscape by a modern artist, C. J. Holmes, which gave Patricia delight. All else was unaffected and apparently unstudied. A bright fire burned within the noble grate; and a big old clock ticked hollowly, reminding her of the clock in a half-forgotten poem, which said "Ever—Never—Never—Forever."... The room was quite silent except for this ticking and the occasional whispering collapses of fragments of coal. There was an extraordinary peace in this house, and a sense of open space in the sitting-room which was enhanced by the cool tones of the furnishings. Patricia sighed as she sat there alone. The little dog, Pulcinella, a glossy black twisting creature, was exuberant and friendly. Patricia could almost have believed that he recognised her. Percy was more distant. He stared with big steady eyes. But at last he, too, rising from his place, stretched and yawned, and came slowly across to her side. Here, instead of making any advance, he merely sat with his feathery tail straight behind him on the floor, while he contemplated the stranger in silence.

"Percy," said Patricia. "You're awfully proud."

He looked at her relentingly. Patricia slipped to her knees beside him, and the little dog came frisking there also. Percy turned a solemn head, in order to watch the gambollings of Pulcinella, and again yawned. His dignified coquetry was engaging. Then he rubbed his head against Patricia's sleeve.

"I wish I had as little care as you," she whispered. And as she sat there her face grew white. She sprang up, transformed from white to red. Memory of the unknown creature she had been on the previous night came destructively to her mind. Her face hardened. "I oughtn't to be here!" Patricia thought, as the conflict between her memory and this pervading tranquillity sank into her mind. "I'm wicked. I want to be wicked! Claudia—why, Claudia wouldn't want to be my friend at all if she knew all I think and do and want to do. I'm an impostor. I'm not nice at all. I'm wicked." A great stab of misery held her silent, still scarlet. She even took pleasure in hurting herself, in thinking that she was wicked.

While Patricia was yet stricken with the enormity of her own guilty inclination, Claudia came back into the room, and stood with that air of affection that made Patricia soft towards her new and guileless and altogether innocent friend. Claudia pulled a chair up to the fire, and pointed to it.

"That boy will be here in no time," she gaily said.

"Boy? Oh, how strange to...." Patricia checked herself. Almost vaguely, she went on: "I hope he's not coming ... leaving his work."

"It'll do him good!" cried Claudia, unexpectedly. "What he wants is.... No, Percy, you mustn't claw!" This last was because Percy was resenting Patricia's neglect and seeking to re-establish their relations. "What Edgar wants is something to save him from work altogether. Work's a great monster."

"I hate it!" acknowledged Patricia. "It's devil-begotten!"

"Edgar's work has made happiness for everybody in this house. Without it, we should be nowhere. We shouldn't exist. But Edgar's the one who gets least out of his work. We're all Old Men of the Sea on his shoulders. I've never thought of that before, by the way. I suppose you didn't happen to think of it, by any chance, and put it into my head?"

"Oh, no," said Patricia naïvely. "You see, I don't ... don't know Edgar very well."

Claudia gave her a quick side-long glance.

"He knows you pretty well, doesn't he?" she answered. "But of course that's different."

That was the third shock Patricia had received that afternoon from Claudia. She turned as if to answer; but Claudia was moving across the room, and Patricia was left to draw her own inference. The remark had almost seemed to accuse her of injustice to Edgar. And what beyond?