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CHAPTER

XVIII

WirH unwearying strategy Pat made opportunities for being with Scott thereafter. Each time they were together alone she came to his arms as sweetly and naturally as if she claimed him of right; each time until the evening before the wedding when, as he drew her to him, she twitched away with a boyish, petulant jerk of the shoulders. “What is it, Pat?” he queried. “Nothing. I don’t want you to pet me. That’s all.” He had the acumen to suspect that this might be a

first crisis in their newly established relations, though he did not fathom her purpose. “Very well,” he assented quietly. ‘You are quite right, of course.” This did not suit Pat at all. From her youthful suitors she was accustomed to woeful protests. “Am I?” she retorted perversely. “I’m not. There’s nothing right about it.”

“No. But there is this. I shall never make any claim upon you except as you wish it.” “Well, I don’t wish it. Not now.” A dart of lightning flashed through her clouded look. “I might to-morrow.” His brows lifted, enquiringly. Mockingly, too? Pat wondered. You never could tell with Mr. Scott. What would he say? He said nothing. “D’you know what I mean?” demanded Pat, who didn’t slearly know herself. “Perfectly.” “What?” “Coquetry. That’s a form of dishonesty between us.

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