vii

Leaving Patricia aghast at his alternative, he began to drive on; and the sun continued to glitter upon the polished metal of the car and upon the wind screen. Patricia lay back in her corner recovering her temper and her composure. Presently she shouted at him.

"You've got too much respect for women!" she said. Edgar took no notice of her. She was quiet a little while, thinking. At last: "You're quite right. I'm not wonderful! Edgar, stop! I want to talk to you. I want to tell you something."

The car was checked; and in her very truthful voice Patricia described the events of the previous evening. When she came to the thousand pounds Edgar exclaimed. At the mention of two thousand he turned quickly to her.

"Monty was prepared to go up to two-thousand five-hundred," he said. "He's got a regal way of pensioning his mistresses. You might have made two-thousand five-hundred pounds, Patricia."

"He offered to marry me," answered Patricia, defiantly. "But he didn't really mean it, of course. It was only something to attract my attention."

"I was thinking," said Edgar, slowly. "Your lovers are rather a fine set of men, aren't they!"

"You think they're something to be conceited about?" retorted Patricia. "Edgar, don't you really think I'm rather wonderful!" It was apparently wistful; but only apparently so.

"I'm so concerned with my own marvellousness," he crudely answered, "that I can't spare time to admire yours."

"But Edgar, girls have to be admired," she said. "Look here: you've done something. You've achieved something. Can't you see that if you've never done anything you have to make up something to live for. If I loved you, and had no other ambition, I could live in your interests, as you want me to. But I can't play second fiddle—not yet—not until I've sown my wild oats. If I'm no good, then...."

Edgar turned round. If he observed the fiddler sowing wild oats he ignored the confusion.

"There's something in that," he said. "I don't want you to play second fiddle. You haven't made up your mind to marry me; but you've got a sense that you're going to ... that's so, isn't it?" There was a pause.

"I think so," answered Patricia at last, in a very quiet voice. "It seems inevitable. That is, if I'm to marry anybody at all. But I'm not ready to marry you."

"What you'd like to do is not to make up your mind. You'd like to go on as we are, being friends, until I'm tired of you and you are tired of me, and we can have disagreeable middle-ages of loneliness and regret. I don't care to waste our lives in that way. I admit that I'm not an ideal lover; but I've got other points, and you know them. You know that in some curious way you depend on me. You may not be in love with me; but no other man means as much to you, or will ever mean as much. If it's put to you that you either marry me or lose me, you'll marry me rather than lose me. But if you don't love me, it would be very wrong to marry me simply because you couldn't bear to lose me...."

Patricia allowed him to wander on. She was smiling.

"I like to hear you talk," she said. "It's agreeable. It's all irrelevant, and verbose; and if you think I'm to be threatened into marrying you, you're mistaken. Can't you see it would murder my vanity? But I haven't anything to give you. You'd be giving to me all the time. I could have given something they wanted to Harry and Monty, and when it came to the point I wouldn't give it, because they couldn't give me anything I wanted in exchange. You can give me a lot. You can make my life worth living. But I can't give you anything, because you don't want it."

"We'll get on to Winchester now," said Edgar, with studied—even ostentatious—patience. "Because I want to take you back to London to tea with some friends of ours—Olivia and Peter Stephens."

"Stephens?" said Patricia. "Aren't they ... aren't they the married people who are happy?" She became thoughtful. The car began to move; but she was unconscious of everything but her own darting intuitions. Amy ... the happy young lovers ... what had Amy said? For an instant full memory of the conversation eluded her. Then at last. "Why take me there?" she asked.

"It'll do you good to meet some real people for a change," said Edgar. "Happy people. People who haven't got their heads cluttered with sophistication and egotism. People who aren't sterile sensation-rakers, and lascivious fiddlers with their senses."

Again Patricia was lost in thought. His rather heated tone was a natural discouragement to her. Suddenly she gave an exclamation.

"Oh, babies!" she said. She did not open her lips again until the car arrived in Winchester.