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After dinner a number of Claudia's friends came either unexpectedly or upon some casual invitation from Claudia. All were young men and women of refined tastes; and for a short time during their restless incursion there was a good deal of chatter. Patricia found herself not quite so much at home as she had been. She wished it had not been thought necessary—if that were indeed the case—for others to be invited. She felt so much older than Claudia's friends, so much superior to them in intelligence and knowledge of the world. They produced a superficial air of bustle and jollity; but it was all so naïve as to be tiresome and stupid. Claudia was different. She at least had brains and high spirits. She also had vitality. But the others were so many boys and girls, and not of the kind of boy and girl that Patricia had recently begun to find amusing. These had no spice of danger about them; and Patricia had developed of late a new craving for just this spice. The girls were good suburban girls; the boys good suburban boys. Not one of them seemed to have a lurking devil. Quickly the party became what Patricia had feared it would be. It became insipid. Mrs. Mayne, from even the teasing and mischievous old lady of the dinner, grew into such a woman as her placid appearance would have indicated. Edgar and his father both disappeared, the former to return after not more than half-an-hour, during which—as he supposed that Patricia would be amusingly employed—he had cleared off some arrears of work. If it had not been for Claudia, Patricia's spirits would deeply have been sunk into boredom.

But at last the evening took a turn. The visitors, having stayed an hour, went as suddenly as they had come. Supper brought her once more within the circle of the Maynes; and she and Claudia and Edgar were at a table together. Edgar seemed preoccupied; but nothing could check Claudia's high spirits. She and her mother sparred with considerable spirit. Patricia delighted in the happy relationship. She found herself as the evening advanced recovering all the zest that she had lost on the coming of the juvenile visitors. Called upon to do so, she even gave her impressions of those who had called, and during this period she could not help glancing at Edgar to see whether he was amused at her comments. To her chagrin, Edgar remained serious. Although he smiled, his expression was grave. He was not attending. Patricia hardened. Such neglect chilled her, so unusual was it. Swiftly her resentment at his implied belief in her conceitedness returned and increased. It was not known to her that during his absence from the room Edgar had discovered something which had given him a great shock. She judged only by her own egocentric knowledge, and she accordingly misinterpreted his mood. Only to Edgar, therefore, was Patricia's manner at all cold. But he presently shook off whatever had been the matter which had made him thoughtful, and as he became animated Patricia was lured farther and farther from her grievance, until at last it was for the time altogether forgotten.

By then it was eleven o'clock, and the evening was ended. After warm exchanges of kind expressions between herself and Claudia, and after a further invitation from Mrs. Mayne, Patricia found herself walking through the dark streets by Edgar's side.

"I'm very glad I came," she told him naïvely. "I think Claudia's splendid."

"You were rather afraid, weren't you?" Edgar asked.

"I'm always afraid of meeting somebody new. I feel at a disadvantage. I'm afraid of meeting people cleverer than myself."

"Oh, Claudia isn't that," she heard him say. Patricia's eyes opened in the safe darkness. Oho! she wonderingly said to herself. That did not sound much like an attempt to discourage a conceited young woman. How strange he was!

"I think she is." A very subdued voice conveyed the disclaimer. Edgar made no reply. Patricia, who believed him incapable of inspiring affection, felt a remarkable little flood of liking fill her heart. What a peculiar effect Edgar had upon her. He made her feel like a very small girl, much younger than himself, much weaker and sillier and less splendid than usual, but in no way distressed by the sensation. Childishly, there darted into Patricia's mind the wish that she had also possessed a brother—a brother something like Edgar, who could understand what was said to him, who did not all the time make demands, who was safe and sure and reliable.

A sigh shook her. It was so light as to be imperceptible to her companion. Her eyes filled with tears. At times in Patricia's conquering life there came instants when she would have given the world to rest quite quietly upon some such strong human support. Moments of loneliness sometimes assailed her, when a sustaining hand would have been of all things the most welcome. She did not feel lonely with Edgar—only happy and at ease. She was now very happy indeed. Then the moment's mood passed, and she was once again alert, and, immediately afterwards, troubled by another thought. She did not know that she was hiding her heart even from herself.